Snowbird's Interlude
by sentinel28
Summary: With the Clan attack on Vantaa looming, the Snowbirds are ordered off Outreach. War has returned to the Inner Sphere, and it's time to say goodbye.
1. A Match Made in Heaven

**_SNOWBIRD'S INTERLUDE_**

**_Chapter Six of the Snowbird Saga_**

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The deviations in here from Battletech canon are minor, such as having Sheila Arla-Vlata, Max Canis-Vlata, and Marion Rhialla as trainers for the "young royals." All of the events in here take place between the last chapter of Michael Stackpole's _Lethal Heritage_ and about halfway through _Blood Legacy.

_This part of the story arc is actually fairly humorous; I've tried to write it as such, anyway. As for this particular chapter, most of the dialogue is taken from _Lethal Heritage.

_Thanks for sticking with me. And as always, all characters in here are the property of WizKids, Fanpro, and Michael Stackpole. No infringement of copyright is intended._

_Some of you had some questions about Senefa's reaction in _The Falcon and the Snowbird._ They will be answered later on in this chapter._

**1. A Match Made in Heaven**

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_12 January 3051_

Victor Steiner-Davion stood in the doorway of the giant meeting chamber and had to consciously keep his jaw from dropping.

He was no stranger to balls and fetes, grand meetings and parties, for that was part and parcel of being a royal in the Inner Sphere, no matter what House one belonged to. He had hated them then and he hated them now, a thought that made him smile sardonically; his mother had made him dress up for so many formal occasions that he now associated them with being colossally bored.

That was not likely to happen this time. He saw every uniform of every House in the Inner Sphere, and not a few mercenary units as well. Some were sticking to the familar cliques of House units, while others moved freely about the room. There were so many there that no one so much graced Victor with a nod. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy–he would be the most powerful man in the Inner Sphere, someday–but then fought it down. He was only nineteen, still a small fish with one victory under his belt, and that more through blind luck than his own skill. It would be a long time before he would match a good deal of these people. Now feeling self-conscious, he walked down the stairs and looked for a familiar face.

He found one quickly enough. Morgan Kell was in conversation with two officers who wore Marik Militia uniforms. At well over six feet, Morgan towered over most people in the room, and the man's charisma made him seem even taller. He wore the blood-red and black uniform of the Kell Hounds, one "ear" of the stylized fox's head tunic bedecked in medals and campaign ribbons. Though his hair and beard were going gray, he still wore it long over his shoulders, and his movements made him seem a lot younger than his nearly fifty years.

Morgan's face split in a wide grin, revealing evenly-spaced teeth, and the Marik officers withdrew as Victor walked up. They shook hands, Morgan's large paw seemingly engulfing Victor's. "Highness, as always, seeing you is a pleasure without equal."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "Without equal? My mother won't be happy to hear that."

Morgan laughed. "Ah, you've caught me–your mother has a special place in my heart. Consider my statement amended but no less heartfelt."

"Done."

Morgan stepped back and looked Victor over. He nodded at the Order of Steiner-Davion that was pinned to Victor's tunic; he wore the gold and blue formal uniform of the AFFC. "Dan Allard told me good things about you in that action on Twycross. He said you can think on your feet and you're not afraid of mixing it up. That's good. It got your uncle Ian killed on Mallory's World, but it's pulled your father and your cousin Morgan Hasek-Davion out of more scrapes than I've got digits to remember."

"If the Hounds hadn't been there and Colonel Allard not been willing to take a chance, things might have turned out much differently," Victor said quietly.

"And if you hadn't sent Kai Allard to recon the pass, how do you think things would have turned out?" His eyebrows beetled together, and Victor heard the admonishment in his voice. Morgan was not about to let Victor grind himself down.

Victor looked over and spotted Kai, who wore the same uniform as he did. He was talking with his mother, Candace Liao, and his father, Justin Xiang. Both were legends, of course. Kai's younger sisters were there too, not yet out of secondary school, though Kuan Yin and Cassandra were rapidly growing into beautiful women. Victor noticed Kai looking studiously at the ground while his father said something to him. "If only he'd allow himself to realize it, Morgan."

Morgan put a beefy arm around Victor's shoulders. "I think you'll find warriors like Kai keep a tight rein on themselves because they're afraid of what would happen if they don't. If he ever cuts loose, there's not much in the Inner Sphere that could stop him." Morgan chuckled. "Just be glad he's on your side." He noticed something and his grin grew wider. "And speaking of someone else I'm glad is on our side, it looks like the wedding couple is here."

"Wedding couple?" Victor spun around. "What are they doing here?"

"I think Jaime invited them."

"I know that, but they're supposed to be on their honeymoon...the ceremony was today!" Victor looked at Morgan. "I had just enough time to get changed and take a shower."

"I suppose they couldn't miss this. I can hardly blame them; I'm already having flashbacks to your parents' wedding." Morgan's eyes twinkled. "Well? Where are your manners, Victor? I haven't met Sheila Arla-Vlata since that last inane reception at the Nagelring."

Victor winced at that. "Right." He and Morgan walked over to where the newly married Vlatas were.

Max Canis-Vlata wore a white uniform with powder blue trimming, the new formal uniform of the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Team. A cape in the same colors was fastened around his shoulders, and his pants were bloused into shining MechWarrior boots, with spurs in the Davion fashion. His awards were somewhat more substantial than Victor's, but not by much. He adjusted his glasses and returned the handshake of a rakish man in Dragoon colors.

Next to him was Sheila Arla-Vlata, and she didn't wear a uniform, but her bridal gown. It was very traditional, with a floor-length, billowing dress and thin waist. The dress ended above her breasts, and she was covered from there to her throat with shimmersilk. She still had on her veil, thrown back somewhat haphazardly over her black hair.Her one concession to a uniform was the Commonwealth Star worn around her throat.

"My God, what happened to her?" Morgan exclaimed.

"She got married." Victor couldn't resist.

"Smartass. Her face, Victor."

Victor winced again and wondered if Sheila should have kept the veil _over_ her face. Victor had heard of the Trial of Possession a month ago, but Sheila's face was still puffy, she had the remnants of a black eye, and there was a scar across her cheek and a bandage over the bridge of her nose. "She fought a Clan warrior hand-to-hand."

Morgan nodded. "I know, but it was a month ago. That must have been some fight." Sheila waved at him happily, and he smiled, returning it.

"Hey, Vic!" she called out, apparently not giving a categorical damn if someone took offense at her easy familiarity. "You were missed at the reception."

"I know. I had planned to attend, but I had to get over here. I hadn't realized you were coming."

Sheila's eyes twinkled. "What, and miss this? Jaime Wolf gathering the leaders of the Inner Sphere for some sort of grand strategy meeting? I'll tell my kids about this, if I ever have any." She pulled on Max's arm. "Let me steal him back from you, Colonel Jamison." J. Elliot Jamison, the roguish commander of the equally roguish Zeta Battalion, gave his assent, nodded cordially to Morgan and Victor, and joined a circle of Dragoon officers.

"Sheila, Max, you know Colonel Morgan Kell of the Kell Hounds, of course," Victor said by way of introduction. Recognition flooded their features, and Victor caught the sidelong glance between husband and wife. They were in the prescence of possibly the greatest MechWarrior of the century.

Both came to attention and saluted, Sheila looking a little strange doing so in her gown. Morgan only smiled and put out his hand to Max, who shyly took it. "A pleasure to meet you, Maximillian," Morgan intoned formally. "I see you're continuing the family tradition of marrying beautiful women–your mother was and is quite the lady." Max stammered something about it the pleasure being his.

Sheila had her hand out for a handshake, but Morgan took it, bent over, and kissed it. Victor fought down a laugh as a red blush went from Sheila's neck to her forehead like a heat gauge on a 'Mech. "Ah, Sheila," Morgan said, smiling at her. "Absolutely stunning." He gestured at the bandages. "How did the other one look?"

"A lot worse," Sheila answered before she thought about it. "Sir," she added hastily.

Morgan waved it off. "Enough with the 'sir'. I'm a mercenary, same as you. I work for a living._" _He folded his arms across his chest. "I read about what you did on Planting, _and_ on Twycross and Rasalhague. I think you've made up for your infraction on Blackjack." He turned to Max. "Both of you have done exceptionally well against the Clans. You'll have to share your secret with the rest of us."

Sheila and Max looked at each other again, and Victor could read their thoughts: _Morgan Kell's asking _us_ what our secret is?_

"If we figure it out," Sheila replied finally, "you'll be the first to know. Half the time I wasn't even thinking about what to do."

"I'd say luck, sir," Max added, having forgotten Morgan's admonishment about rank.

"Luck is what others call skill when they have none," Morgan said. "No, Max, luck isn't the reason. You've discovered a key that we old heads haven't yet. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, that's why you're here. I'd enjoy your honeymoon while it lasts, because I imagine a lot of people are going to want to know how you've excelled against an enemy that's rolled over everyone else." Morgan's smile returned. "And I'm not doing what your father, Sheila, calls blowing sunshine up someone's rear end. In case Victor hasn't told you, I am not that kind of person."

"Er...your reputation kind of preceded you..." Max said haltingly.

"I look forward to the meetings–and I meant what I said about that honeymoon." Morgan winked at Max. "When I got married, I couldn't wait to get the guests out the door. I admire your restraint, Max."

Max blushed and was about to stammer a reply when the whine of an electric wheelchair cut him off. They turned to see a white-haired, bearded man dressed in the uniform of a general of the Free Rasalhague Republic. His face was horribly scarred. A respectful distance behind the wheelchair was a young woman about Sheila's age, though not as tall.

The man scowled at Morgan. "You are Morgan Kell?" It was nothing less than a challenge. At Morgan's slow nod, the man spat, "I am Tor Miraborg. Your son murdered my daughter!"

Victor was taken aback, and he heard Sheila gasp with the sheer venom of the statement. Morgan, however, merely clasped his hands behind his back, his face calm. "Do you mind explaining how my son, dead for a year and a half now, could have murdered your daughter?"

"Your son came between Tyra and me," Miraborg shot back. "His influence drove her away and made her accept a position with the Rasalhague Drakons. My daughter died fighting the invaders." He practically flung the words in Morgan's face.

Morgan's face grew a shade darker. "Then your daughter and my son shared one last thing in their all-too-brief lives. I recieved a holodisk from her not long ago, and she was kind enough to share with my wife and I some remembrances of her time with Phelan."

The fight went out of Miraborg instantly, and he suddenly looked very old. "She...she talked to you? She recorded a holodisk...for _you?_"

"Her disk came in response to one I had sent her. I will let you see the message, if you wish," Morgan said gently.

Miraborg sat up in the wheelchair. "No. I want no part of _your_ message. She stopped being my daughter the day she left Gunzburg." He spun the wheelchair around and disappeared in the crowd, nearly running over the girl behind him. She looked in Miraborg's wake, then turned back to Morgan. "Colonel Kell, I'm Anika Janssen. I was Tyra's wingmate. I also like to think I was her best friend." She glanced back in Miraborg's general direction. "Please ignore what he said. He's just a bitter old man. I knew your son and was with him and Tyra many times. I was there when they met the first time. You've nothing to be ashamed of in your son. Phelan and Tyra were very good for each other."

Morgan nodded, putting his hands on Janssen's slim shoulders. "Thank you, Lojtnant. I'm glad to know Phelan had friends."

The fighter pilot swallowed, looking at her boots. "And if you wouldn't mind, sir, I'd like to see that disk she made. Tyra and I never had a chance to say goodbye. She rode her _Shilone_ into the flagship's bridge. She did more to stop the invasion than anyone else in the whole Royal Kungsarme, and the Iron Jarl"–she referred to Miraborg–"he won't even acknowledge her existence, let alone her heroism."

"The Kungsarme?" Sheila said. "Lojtnant Janssen, she did more in five seconds than the entire Inner Sphere's done in five months. You know she got the Clanner's top man." Sheila shook her head. "It won't bring her back, I know, but..."

"Yes, I know." Janssen nodded. "Thank you, uh..."

"Lieutenant Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata, of the Sentinels. We were on Rasalhague at the end. I think you guys had already gotten out." She noticed Janssen's stare. "Uh, yeah. We just got married. My husband, Major Max Canis-Vlata."

Janssen smiled and offered her congratulations, but Victor noticed the smile never made it to her eyes. "Excuse me," she said, "I must go and find the Iron Jarl. He's my responsibility."

"Of course," Morgan replied. "I'll have a copy of the disk to you tomorrow morning." He returned her respectful nod, and then the pilot was gone.

"Maybe we should leave," Max said quietly, but not so quietly Morgan didn't hear. He looked at them over his shoulder. "No," he said sternly. "Stay. I know what you're thinking, Max, but you and Sheila arriving directly from your wedding represents something very important." He motioned around the room. "We've lost a great deal in the last six months. Not just me, not just Miraborg. It's all too easy to get wrapped up in hate.

"Hatred blinds you. A man can only live on it for so long until it burns him out. If he survives, he becomes a shell." Morgan's gaze was fixed on where Miraborg had been. "You're right, Max. When I see both of you standing there, I wonder what Tyra and Phelan would have looked like in the same pose. But I don't think that merely because I so dearly wish that it could be true. I think it because, like them, you've managed to find a piece of love in the middle of so much hatred. It might be useful to remind everyone in this room of that, because you represent the future. If we don't fight for that, then why do we bother in the first place? It will also silence those who think that the new generation can't hack it."

Morgan blinked, then half-smiled. "I apologize. I didn't mean to preach." He returned the wave of Dan Allard across the room. "Let me give the newlyweds some advice–and you should remember this too, Victor. It'll be your turn some day. Don't waste time arguing over things. You're both MechWarriors; our profession is one of the most dangerous in the Inner Sphere. You don't have _time_ to argue. Live." Morgan's eyes bored into them. "I speak from experience. I abandoned the woman I'm married to for a decade, and I regret that lost time now." He shook hands with Max, and kissed Sheila's cheek. "Good luck. I'll see you all later." And with that, Morgan strode away, into the crowd.

Sheila was the first to find her voice. "Victor," she said solemnly, "I wouldn't make a pimple on that man's ass."

Victor laughed, breaking the tension. "Neither would I."

"Looks like it's unanimous," Max sighed. "Didn't you know Phelan, Sheila?"

"Not very well. He stayed aloof–he always seemed to have a chip on his shoulder the size of a HPG platform. Vic knew him better than I did."

Victor shook his head. "We moved in different circles." He did not want to speak ill of the dead; in truth, he had thought Phelan a prima donna, too independent, and definitely not a team player. He wondered if that was how Phelan had met his end–alone. He suppressed a shudder, and then a sigh as he saw Max take Sheila's hand. They looked so very happy. Victor envied them, and doubted he ever would feel the same way.

He was nearly knocked over by a giant of a man. At first he thought it was Morgan, but this man was even taller and broader. He turned around and had to lean back to look the man in the face. "Tooriu Kku?" he asked.

Tooriu grinned toothily. "Heya, Victor. You missed the reception, dude." Victor's smile returned involuntarily; he wondered if Tooriu would amble up to his father, Hanse Davion, and ask to bum a light off of him. Knowing Tooriu, he probably already had. The man simply did not acknowledge higher rank or station. Tooriu twirled around something on his finger.

Sheila leaned forward. "All right, Tooriu. I know damn good and well you didn't catch my garter. I'm relatively sure Drax caught it."

Tooriu shrugged. "I bought it off of him for ten C-bills." He laughed. "I'm just kiddin'. I just borrowed it to show some of the guys." He looked down at Victor. "See what you missed? I bet Sheila would have thrown it to you."

"Not with Goliath of Gath in my way," Victor snorted, poking a finger into Tooriu's chest. It felt like poking BattleMech armor plate, but he figured if Tooriu could be completely without pretention, so could he.

"Huh. So who was the dude in the chair? He looked like a mean old bastard. I was gonna come over here and wrap that chair around his saggy ass."

"It's a long story," Max sighed. He looked around Tooriu. "Is that Romano Liao that just walked in?"

"Yeah," Tooriu groused. "She shoved one Dragoon and I thought the guy was gonna bitch slap her. I'd give a month's pay to see that."

"Marion Rhialla is still at the Harlech DropPort, isn't she?" Sheila asked.

Tooriu shrugged. "Last I heard, she was going out to get liquored up with Carabinera. I told your dad, because I think they were going to go look up the Black Widow and try and drink her under the table, or kick her butt, whichever came first. Either way, they may end up starting a riot in Harlech."

"I just hope they're not here. Romano had most of Rhialla's old battalion shot. One look at her and Marion's likely to do a hell of a lot more than bitch slap her."

"Now that you mention it," Victor said, "where _is_ Natasha Kerensky? I recognize most of the Dragoon officers, but someone like her isn't someone you miss."

"Probably out killing Clanners," Tooriu mused.

"I don't know," Max said. "There's Gentleman Jim Clavell over there. I don't think the Widow would be out hunting alone."

Maysa Bari came up to them. "Hi, Sheila," she said, hugging her. "You look positively angelic!"

"Humpf. I'm about as angelic as Catherine the Great," Sheila said. The reference went right over Maysa's head, so she continued. "Maysa, you've met Victor, haven't you?"

Victor turned. "Hello." He had not met Maysa Bari, a sixteen-year old MechWarrior who Sheila had mentioned as the best shot in her battalion. She looked far too childlike for that; her bright red hair was shaved close to her temples, Steiner fashion, for better contact with her neurohelmet, but it made her look even more like a child playing MechWarrior.

Maysa turned white as a sheet, and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. "H-h-hello," she stammered. "P-p-pleasure meet you–I mean–i-it's a–"

Victor shook her hand. "Same here." A series of soft chimes got everyone's attention, for which he was glad, because Maysa looked on the verge of passing out. Out of the corner of one eye, Victor would swear that Maysa was now hiding behind Sheila. He had run into all kinds of reactions his name brought–toadying, boorishness, snide remarks, casual indifference, even outright hatred–but this was the first time he had ever scared anyone.

Tooriu leaned down to Victor's ear. "She's really shy around strangers," he whispered.

"Didn't notice," Victor quipped. Then he shut his mouth, for Jaime Wolf was taking the stage at the far end of the room. A younger officer wearing the patch of the Black Widow Battalion followed him to the dais, but the rest of the Dragoons' regimental and battalion commanders remained at loose attention along the wall behind Wolf. Natasha Kerensky was not among them, and from the chatter he overheard, he wasn't the only one to notice.

Jaime Wolf was not a tall man, half a head shorter than Morgan Kell, not much taller than Victor himself. Again, it was the force of the man's personality that made him seem bigger, and it came as no surprise that this small man led the largest, most professional unit in the Inner Sphere, the five mysterious, undeniably lethal Wolf's Dragoons. He ran a hand through gray hair, and began to speak.

"Thank you all for responding to the summons that brought us together here on Outreach. Some of you must have found it strange and yet you have sensed that my reason was not frivolous. Rather, I wish to speak with you about a problem that faces all of us and whose depth perhaps only the Dragoons can know."

Max leaned over to Sheila. "Okay, how's he going to back that one up? The Dragoons haven't even fought the Clans that I know of."

Sheila shrugged. "Hey, they're the Dragoons. Major Sneuth told me at the reception that they had a full case of Fanta Orange in our suite. I don't recall telling her that Fanta Orange happens to be my favorite."

Wolf was still talking, indicating the young man behind him. "Some of you may have known him as Major Darnell Winningham. His real name is MacKenzie Wolf, and he is my son. He will be replacing Natasha Kerensky."

That brought a lot of talk among the crowd. "I thought his family was wiped out on New Delos," Sheila said.

Max smiled wanly. "Hey, they're the Dragoons. Wouldn't surprise me if Wolf ripped off a mask and said he was an alien from Andromeda."

"As you all know," Wolf continued, "the Inner Sphere has been invaded in the last year by an enemy possessing BattleMechs of extraordinary power. Recently the Federated Commonwealth and Draconis Combine have had some notable successes against these invaders. After months of trial and error, they have finally managed to hand the invaders some reverses on Twycross, Wolcott, Planting, and most importantly, Radstadt. Since then, the invaders have, for all intents and purposes, withdrawn into the shell of the worlds they conquered."

"It's because we _kicked their ass!"_ Tooriu shouted. Sheila nearly turned as pale as Maysa had at Tooriu's temerity, but his defiant yell was taken up by others in the room, notably wearing Federated Commonwealth white and gold, and Draconis Combine white and red. Tooriu held out a giant hand to Victor, and Victor, caught up in the moment, clasped it like a pair of soccer players after winning a match.

Wolf smiled wanly at Tooriu. "Can you really believe that so implacable an enemy is cowed by minor defeats? They withdrew because one Rasalhague pilot sacrificed herself by smashing her _Shilone_ into the invaders' flagship. At the very least, she killed the invasion's leader and crippled the command structure of the enemy forces. If she'd missed ten meters up or down, left or right, the Clans would still be marching inexorably forward. If you are so naive as to think that two minor victories and a lucky stroke by a brave pilot could drive these invaders back, our chances for success are poor indeed in our war against them."

"_Our_ war?" Romano Liao's voice easily carried over the murmur of the crowd. It had a shrill tone to it that set Sheila's teeth on edge. "Of course! I knew it all along!" She laughed triumphantly and pirouetted to the crowd. "You've just been waiting for our troops to take stock of the invaders. Now Wolf's Dragoons will stalk from their den and into the battle!" _Drama queen_, Sheila thought, nearly saying it aloud, but then realized that this middle-aged woman with the graying black hair was responsible for more deaths of her own people than Hanse Davion ever could come close to. She was quite insane, and it was not a time to be noticed.

Romano turned back to Wolf and stabbed a long fingernail at him. "Yours are the fiercest mercenaries in the Inner Sphere." Max drove an elbow into Tooriu's side to silence the other MechWarrior before he said something truly stupid. "With your help, we shall send these rimworld renegades running..."

Her words trailed off as Wolf speared her with a cold stare. "I'm afraid you have it all wrong, Madam Chancellor. The enemy we face is not composed of either renegades or bandits. The invaders will be back, probably in less than a year. We'll have to be ready to meet them with everything we've got, because we've only seen a small sample of their strength." Wolf turned from the castigated Chancellor to the crowd at large. "After Radstadt and the death of their leader, they'll come at us full strength. They'll ask no quarter and grant none." Wolf took a breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, now begins what easily could be the last days of the Inner Sphere."


	2. A Honeymoon in Hell

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Second chapter. This one may stray towards the edge of PG-13, since Sheila gets a little suggestive…I swear, I need to quit writing this girl with such a dirty mind._

_Again, most of this chapter is drawn from Michael Stackpole's _Blood Legacy, _specifically Chapter 4. There are a few deviations from canon—in _Blood Legacy,_ the young royals' training begins in February 3051, whereas I have it here in January. There's a reason for this. Also, I am possibly skirting the edge of Mary Suedom by giving the Snowbirds such a huge role in the training of the royals, and if so, I apologize. I just think it makes for a better story and a different perspective than that given in Stackpole._

_Kat & Rouge, I can't take responsibility for the Miraborg episode; that is written exactly the way Stackpole did it, although more from Sheila and Max's perspective than Morgan or Victor's. Morgan's advice sounds like something he would say, given his own history, and I'm glad it worked out. And Rouge, thanks for the story ideas—definitely going to work what you said about the Clans into a future chapter, and we'll have to get Tooriu involved at some point too. Safe to say for now that he isn't jealous of Max; he's got other ladies on his mind. Think of a MechWarrior version of Miroku from _Inu-Yasha.

**II. A Honeymoon Made in Hell**

_"Nothing is ever done in this world until men are prepared to kill one another if it is not done."_

_--George Bernard Shaw_

_Hilton Inn Harlech_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_15 January 3051_

Sheila looked at the clock. The digital numbers burned 2:20 AM TST on the wall. She turned over and saw her husband–the word still thrilled her a little–sitting up in bed, staring out the window. As promised, the Dragoons had gotten the newlyweds the bridal suite for a week. For services rendered, Wolf had said, even though Sheila had yet to figure out what services those were. "Are you okay?" she asked into the silence, turning over.

"Can't sleep," Max replied. He leaned back against the ornate headstand.

"We could take a turn through the heart-shaped hot tub again," Sheila grinned, but her grin faded at the grim expression on Max's face. "Okay, what's going on?"

"How can you joke about it?" Max asked her pointedly. "God, Sheila. We find out that the Clans are the descendants of Alexandr Kerensky's Star League Defense Forces, and, by the way, the Dragoons have been their scouts since 3005. I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. Wolf's bunch–it fits that they would be Kerensky's. But now we've been fighting basically this century's model of the SLDF? I feel like Stefan Amaris."

Sheila nestled her head on Max's bare chest. "Well, you're not. You're a lot sexier, for one thing. Max, they started this war. They invaded us. Yeah, we'd probably be fighting each other, but that's different. That's _our_ war, over _our_ land. The Clans got no business sticking their noses back into it. They think that they're the kids of the SLDF, that gives them the right to do whatever they wish? Screw that. Kerensky bugged out. He gave up whatever responsibilities he had. His descendants have no more claim to the Inner Sphere than I do to the old ancestral lands on Terra."

Max stroked her languid black hair, left unclasped to fan across his chest and the pillows. "You think we can beat them?"

"You think we can't?"

Max smiled. "Good point. Sure, we can beat them. Hell, we have. But how much longer will our luck–" He held up a hand to forestall himself. "Wait, wait. You don't know the answer to that any more than I do."

She poked his nose. "Hard lock and fire, my love. We've got to take it one day at a time. But trust me, we're going to beat the Clans." Sheila stood up, drew off the covers, and wrapped them around herself like a sari. "Because I am the Celestial Wisdom, and I know all!"

Max laughed and grabbed her hand, dragging her back onto the bed. "Romano Liao you're not, thank Providence."

"Yeah, no kidding. I'm not sure whether or not to be terrified of her or to laugh. She's one screwed up indivdual." Sheila snuggled close again. "We'll beat them just to be contrary."

"You've been around Vic too much." He wrapped his arms around her. "You're taking this rather well."

"Does no good to cry. It won't change things." Sheila looked up at him. "Damn, Max, we're on our honeymoon. We're supposed to be having fun. This is supposed to be the happiest week of my life to this point, maybe ever. I _refuse_ to get depressed because some asshole from a long-lost army has a 300-year old chip on his shoulder."

"Okay, okay. Point taken." Max paused. "I do wonder why Wolf wants us at the Dragoon CP tomorrow, though. Especially when he ordered the royals to report an hour before we do. It can't be a coincidence."

"Yeah. I hope he doesn't want us to train with them or something. Nobility scares the hell out of me. We may have a noble title, but our family's a bunch of mongrels. The last thing I want is to say the wrong thing and piss off someone like Sun-Tzu Liao or Hohiro Kurita. Just what we need–Death Commandos or a DEST Team hunting us down because my Japanese is rusty."

"My Chinese is none too good either. Matter of fact, I think I only know one phrase." He closed his eyes in thought. _"Wo ai nih."_

"What's that mean?"

"'I love you.'"

Sheila glomped onto Max. "Ooh, how sweet."

"Yeah, I had to learn that for a school play. I was a courtier or something..." He grinned at her. "Never thought I'd actually use it."

"I suggest you don't attempt it around Kai's sisters."

"Not a problem. But I definitely think it's got something to do with training. Wolf had the same look on his face as Cathy Houndlikov did when she ordered us to run around the base because we were late getting in from live-fire exercises. He is going to ride them hard and put them away wet."

"And speaking of rides..." Sheila climbed atop Max. "Don't look shocked. We _are_ on our honeymoon."

* * *

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters, Harlech_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_16 January 3051_

"You want me to _what?_" Sheila exclaimed incredously.

Christian Kell looked at her calmly. They sat in a meeting room off to one side of the main briefing room, where the various heirs of the Inner Sphere were, or so Jaime told them. "No need to shout, Sheila. I'm right here."

"Major Kell, sir," Max said, standing. "The Snowbirds have fought one real battle against the Clans, on Planting, and that was against probably a second-line unit with none of these OmniMechs we've seen. We're not qualified for this!"

Jaime Wolf leaned back in the conform-lounger he sat in, lacing his hands behind his head. "Oh? It seems to me that you are, Major Canis-Vlata."

Sheila looked pained. "Colonel Wolf, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but we're mercenaries–"

"That's funny," Wolf said, amused. "So are we."

"Yes, sir, but it's different! Those people in there, they're–"

"They're people, Sheila. Yes, they have titles. Yes, they are the heirs to the Successor States." He sat up and held her gaze with his steel eyes. "But they put their pants on one leg at a time just like you do, and they bleed red just like you do. They've been ordered to put away those titles. And they will, or they are history. Perhaps literally, if they do not learn. And they will do _as_ they're ordered, no matter if I do it, or you do. I will make that point fully clear."

"Yes, sir, I see, sir. But surely Sven Ngov or Colonel Allard would be a better choice–"

"In some things, Sheila, they will be doing the training," Kell said. "Now, Sheila, how many engagements have I been in against the Clans?"

Sheila shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

"Two. Prince William Island on Verthandi and the Plain of Curtains on Twycross. How many have you and Max been in?" Before Sheila could answer, Kell continued. "Five. Persistence, Rasalhague, Blackjack, Twycross, and Planting. Even on Blackjack, you learned how to lose. It may have escaped your notice, Lieutenant Commander, but you and many of the people in your battalion are the most experienced Clan fighters in the Inner Sphere. Most of the warriors we've had have been lucky to survive one engagement."

"But what about the Dragoons?" Max asked.

Wolf laughed. "Max, I'm not going on vacation and leaving the Snowbirds in charge. Your job is simple: pass on what you have learned about Clan tactics. You've learned quite a bit–Sheila, you've even learned the formal challenge rite of the Clans. No one else besides the old head Dragoons know that rite. To be honest, none of the Dragoons have faced the Clans since long before you were born. Things change slowly, but not that slowly, especially among the Clans. The tactics I used back in 3005 might get me killed against the latest crop of Clan warriors today. So it will be helpful for even me to learn something." Wolf stood and put his hands on Sheila's shoulders, not an easy thing to do since she was taller than he was. "People have died for that knowledge you have, Sheila. You'll not see that blood go to waste–that's an order. "

Sheila was silent for a moment. "Colonel, I won't promise anything. We'll do our best."

"That's all I ask. You may find yourself doing more than your best." Wolf slapped her shoulders, then checked his watch. "Well, shall we collect the young Turks from the conference room? I imagine they've found the C-34 by now."

"C-34?" Max and Sheila nearly yelled, eyes wide.

"With a simulated detonator," Kell grinned. "Test of character."

Sheila and Max exchanged a what-did-we-get-ourselves-into glance, but followed Wolf and Christian Kell into the corridor. They had only gone a few meters down it when Hanse Davion and Theodore Kurita entered from the far end. Though they could only catch snippets of the conversation, Davion's hands were moving emphatically with the gestures Sheila and Max recognized from countless transvids. He was beginning to show his age, but the man's charisma was a physical force. Kurita was no less impressive, walking with his hands behind his back; younger than Davion, his face was less lined and he was more muscular, hinting at a dormant power that would be a frightening thing if brought to bear. Both men slowed to a halt in front of the conference room as Wolf's party approached them.

"Ah, good morning, Jaime–Christian," Hanse said suddenly, looking up from his conversation.

"Good morning, Prince Davion. _Ohayo,_ Lord Kurita." Wolf and Christian gave a quick but very correct formal bow, Christian's a shade deeper. Kurita smiled and returned it. To Sheila's horror, the Gunji no Kanrei's flinty eyes fell on her. She was seized with the sudden desire to either hide behind Max or melt into the floor, but instead she managed to bow very deeply. _"Ohayo, Kurita-sama,_" she intoned as evenly as she could. Max bowed as well, but said nothing, not trusting his miniscule Japanese.

Kurita smiled slightly. _"Ohayo,_ Arla-Vlata Sheila-san, Canis-Vlata Maximillian-san," he greeted them. He bowed as well, but only to the degree required of a samurai lord to a very minor retainer. "I have heard of your exploits on Rasalhague and Planting. Impressive, but I would expect nothing less from your line."

"M-my line, sir?" Sheila asked. Since Kurita had spoken in English, she did as well.

"I fought your father on Morningside in one of my first actions with the Legion of Vega. The Sentinels were not even a battalion then, but they fought quite well for mercenaries." His eyes fell on the Commonwealth Star. "I would watch this one, Wolf-san. She's likely to have her own regiment soon enough. You may have competition for Prince Davion's contracts." The four older men laughed at that, but Sheila and Max were afraid to crack a smile. Perhaps luckily, their elders were distracted by a commotion inside the conference room. Kell's smile faded as he tapped in a quick series of numbers on a keypad. The door clicked open, and Jaime opened it, swinging it wide.

Sheila wished she had a camera. Sprawled on the floor next to half of a heavy oaken table was the future Archon Prince of the Federated Commonwealth, delivering a painful punch to the ribs of the heir to the Draconis Combine, who had him by the throat. Galen Cox, Victor Steiner-Davion's aide, and Shin Yodama, Hohiro Kurita's aide, were wrapped up in a comedic tableaux, trying to hold the other back from getting into the fight. Ragnar Magnusson, the son of the Free Rasalhague Republic's president, looked at the fight in utter horror, while Cassandra Allard-Liao looked as if she wanted to do imminent violence on the being of Sun-Tzu Liao, the heir to the Capellan Confederation's Celestial Throne, who looked maddeningly smug at the proceedings. Behind them, Kai Allard-Liao was busily working on a putty like substance attached to the bottom of the upended centerpiece of the table, trying to saw it off with a piece of plastic string.

"Enough!" bellowed Hanse Davion, closely followed by Theodore Kurita's no less commanding _"Hohiro, fusagu!"_ Sheila and Max both took a step back, as if from two handfuls of plutonium. Instantly, Hohiro's hands let go of Victor's throat, and he came to ramrod attention, except for rubbing his left side where Victor had punched him. Victor got to his feet, grinned savagely at Hohiro, then wilted at the glare from his father.

Jaime Wolf stepped forward into the room, looked at Kai, shook his head, and gave the others a look that would freeze a fusion reactor. "So this is it? This is the future leadership of the Inner Sphere?" He glanced over his shoulder at Davion and Kurita. "I wish you both long life and more heirs to ward your realms." He crossed the room in two angry strides to stand in front of the bruised Victor and Hohiro. "I am especially surprised at the two of you. Both of you have already faced Clan troops and both of you know that it took everything you had to win. You had to coordinate your actions, plan your strategies, and possess the vision and flexibility to adapt as the situation changed." His voice rose. "But here you let petty jealousies reduce you to behaving like children bickering in a damned sandlot!" Wolf spitted everyone in the room but Kai, Shin, and Galen with a ferocious look. "Understand this, all of you. The Clans are not going to roll over and play dead because you command them to do so." He pointed at Kai, who was slowly standing, realizing that the C-34 was a dud. "It will take more than one soldier thinking about the objective to defeat them. I had hoped to use you, the scions of the Inner Sphere's ruling Houses, as an example for how we might all cooperate to combat this threat. I had hoped that the seds of the rivalries that have sundered the Sphere for three centuries had not yet sprouted or taken sufficient root." Wolf looked back at Christian Kell and MacKenzie Wolf, who had squeezed past Sheila and Max. "If I was wrong, I apologize to you, MacKenzie, and you, Christian, for assigning you the task of bringing this rabble together into a unit."

Jaime Wolf's finger stabbed towards Sheila. "Do you see that woman there? She is a mercenary who is the same age as all of you. You are going to listen to Commander Arla-Vlata when she speaks of fighting the Clans, because she has more experience against the Clans in her battalion than some of you have in your entire realm's army." He nodded at Hohiro and Ragnar in particular. "That's right, you're going to take orders from a mercenary. And you will obey those orders. You _will_ become the unit I need you to be, or you will be discarded! This is no longer a fight of House against House. It is us against the Clans; the stakes are life as we know it. If I have to manufacture leaders for that war, I'll do it." Red-faced, Wolf spun on one heel, nodded at the two House Lords, and stormed out of the room.

Hanse shook his head sadly, gazing at Victor, then put a hand on Theodore's shoulder. "I apologize for my son's behavior. I don't know what possessed him."

Theodore waved away the apology. "It is not his fault. He is yet young. My son should have known better." Theodore pointedly looked from Hohiro to Sheila and back. The message was unheard, but it was simple, and Hohiro quickly bowed low to acknowledge the rebuke. His father gave the briefest nod of the head, and then he and Hanse left the room.

MacKenzie Wolf clapped his hands together with a sinister smile. "The bomb test is the least of the challenges you will face in your time here. If you want to fight, we'll make sure you get plenty of opportunities, but unless you start working together, you'll die fighting each other." He thumbed towards the door. "Outside! Move! You've got a full day of drills ahead. Let's try not to screw them up as badly as you did this one." The people in the room shuffled out silently. "I said move!" MacKenzie shouted, and the royals picked up their feet and double-timed out the door.

MacKenzie's death's-head smile went to real warmth as Sheila and Max, still somewhat dumbfounded, stared at him. "Well, ready to start training some spoiled brats?"

"Not really," Sheila answered. "Half of these people are my employers, and the other half have assassin squads at their beck and call." She put up a hand to forestall MacKenzie's protests. "I know. I have a responsibility. I'll take care of that responsibility, but I can't be a hardass to these people. I'm out of my league and they know it."

"Wrong," MacKenzie replied. "Titles aren't anything more than a fancy piece of paper and words."

Max stepped in. "Major Wolf, sir. We have experience, and we're willing to teach. But these people need a drill sergeant, not people their age telling them to do sit-ups and chin-ups. They won't take us seriously. I wouldn't."

"Actually," Sheila said, suddenly smiling much as MacKenzie had. "I think I might know a woman that would be helpful."

"Does she care about titles?" Christian Kell asked.

"Only in how she can turn them into insults. She's old, she's crusty, and she doesn't give a damn. And she's scary as hell."

"Sounds like a great person," MacKenzie smiled.

Max suddenly realized who Sheila was talking about, and sighed. "No. No, she isn't."


	3. You're in the Army Now

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Third chapter. This one, I think, is pretty funny. Granted, it would be pretty serious if it was happening to you, but since it's not…enjoy. Also granted, it's doubtful that the various royal families of the Inner Sphere would allow their progeny to get beat up on like this (and I do address that in the next chapter), but Victor Steiner-Davion in _Blood Legacy _states that the Dragoons rode the young royals pretty hard._

_Yes, I'll admit it—I watched a lot of _The Wild Geese, Glory _and_ Heartbreak Ridge _before I wrote this chapter. Which means that Marion Rhialla is a diabolical combination of RSM Sandy Young, Sergeant Major Mulcahy, and Gunnery Sergeant Highway. She's fun to write._

_A word of warning: the language in this chapter is _very _bad, but drill sergeants tend to be vulgar. As Patton said, "I give it to them loud and dirty, so they remember it."_

_Rouge, I haven't written an "unrated" version of any of the Snowbird stories, but who knows? I've been known to write lemons in the past…;)_

Marion Rhialla walked at a brisk pace from the Dragoon Kestrel VTOL that had brought her to the training grounds inside the sprawling Dragoon Central base. Alerted by a quick phone call from Sheila, Marion had changed on the flight over into olive drab fatigues, the standard issue for mercenaries under Federated Commonwealth command. It was a contrast to the black and red Dragoon-issue jumpsuits everyone else wore. It was fairly cool outside, not quite enough to be comfortable, but not quite enough for a coat.

While they had waited, the trainees had eaten an alleged breakfast, seemingly picked by the Dragoons for its bland taste. Sun-Tzu had proclaimed it not fit to eat, and for once, everyone had seemed entirely willing to agree with him. MacKenzie Wolf only smirked and ate the concoction, as did Yodama and Cox. He then formed the nine people into one rank of five and another of four; Sheila and Max had elected to join the trainees, to show that they might be instructors, but they were still going to work as hard as their students did. Seeing the respect in Ragnar's eyes as well as Hohiro's was enough.

Rhialla marched to the front of the two ranks, and exchanged handshakes with MacKenzie. She whispered something in his ear, and he shook his head. Rhialla glanced over the trainees, and Sheila saw a look of pure unholy joy go across her face. She looked at Max and mouthed the words, _Oh, shit._

_It's your fault,_ Max mouthed back.

"Good God." Rhialla's voice echoed across the empty parade ground. "I can't believe I gave up wrapping myself around a bottle for this." She walked slowly down the front rank, then around the back. The only sound was the rustle of the breeze and the slow, methodical crunch of gravel underneath Rhialla's boots. Some of the young royals began exchanging glances. At last, she was done, and stopped in front of Hohiro Kurita. She looked him up and down. She then turned to MacKenzie. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "You've got approval."

"From all the principal parties involved?"

"All of them. Even Her Celestial Wisdom herself."

"Huh. Fancy that." She looked back to Hohiro, who stood ramrod straight, his eyes focused ahead. "Who're you?" she asked.

Hohiro blinked. "What?"

"Your name is 'what'?"

Hohiro darkened. "You know what my name is."

"No, I don't." Her face moved to centimeters from his. "What. Is. Your. Fucking. Name."

Hohiro met her gaze with his own. "Hohiro Kurita."

"_Arigato._" Rhialla stepped backwards and raised her voice. "You see, I don't follow society pages. I don't know who any of you are." She walked past Hohiro, past Yodama and Cox, to Victor. "Some of you resemble my employers." She went behind Victor and looked at Sheila. There was the briefest of winks, but then she continued, "Some of you look like my commanders."

Rhialla spun on one heel and resumed her place in front. "Once you leave that door over there–" she pointed to the door leading to the Dragoons' headquarters complex "–you become the heirs to the thrones of the Successor States. If I see you in the hallway, I will snap to attention and I will say, 'Good day, milord,' or 'Good day, madame.' If you tell me to jump, I will say, 'How high?'" A smile crinkled her lips. "But out here, you are nothing to me. You are not Lord Kurita or Lady Allard-Liao. You are whatever I feel like calling you.

"My name is Lance Commander Marion Rhialla. I have drunk more beer, pissed more blood, screwed more people, and killed more MechWarriors than all of you combined. I am fifty-two years old, tired, and I hate everyone. _Especially_ nobles." She looked at Yodama and Cox, stepped forward, and grabbed their hands in turn. Both of them were too experienced not to react. She held up Yodama's hand. "This is a working man's hand. By the time I'm done with all of you, your hands will look like this." She stepped back from them. "You may ask yourself what you did to be saddled with me. You will hate my guts. You will wish me dead. Some of you may even send your House assassins after my saggy ass, assuming you live through the training." She was looking directly at Sun-Tzu Liao. "I don't give a damn. Do you know why?" There was silence. "I asked a question. Doesn't anyone have the balls to answer?" She stuck her face in Sun-Tzu's. "Mister Liao? Perhaps Her Celestial Wisdom has rubbed off a little on you?"

"Don't talk about my mother that way," he hissed.

Rhialla abruptly shoved him; taken by surprise, Sun-Tzu went down. "_I will talk about your fucking mother any way I fucking please, you piece of shit!"_ she shouted. Sun-Tzu, murder in his eyes, leapt to his feet, fists balled. "Oh, now you want to fight me, is that it?" Rhialla grinned. "Good! Come on then–give us some room, people."

The ersatz company opened up to a loose circle. MacKenzie Wolf stepped forward, but a still-grinning Rhialla motioned him away. She put her hands behind her back. "Go ahead, Mister Liao. Unless my knowledge of the Sian court has atrophied, I'm sure they still teach kung fu there. So hit me. I'll give you a free shot at my face." Sun-Tzu hesitated for a moment; Rhialla was all too eager for a fight. "Come on, you son of a bitch! _Hit me._"

Sun-Tzu bared his teeth in rage and sent a haymaker at Rhialla, that, if it connected, would be devastating. But it was a trifle too slow, and Sheila recognized it as such–Star Colonel Senefa would already have Liao on the ground with a broken arm. Rhialla sidestepped it, pulled out a pistol, and stuck it against Sun-Tzu's neck, all in one motion. He wisely froze. "That's not loaded," he whispered. "You won't shoot me."

"Really? Your mother already has a kill order on me, Sun-Tzu Liao. I have nothing to lose." She thumbed back the hammer. "Now answer my question. Why don't I care if the Death Commandos come knocking on my door?"

To Sun-Tzu's credit, he did not flinch and seemed completely unafraid. "Because you have nothing to lose."

"Wrong!" She shoved him with the pistol and stepped away, holstering the gun. "I don't care because on some distant planet, there may be a Clansman who wants to kill me, and you may be the only thing standing between his Gauss Rifle and my head. Back in formation!" Her voice suddenly rose to a whip-crack. She was instantly obeyed. "Good. I see you learn fast. Maybe you have a snowball's chance in hell after all." She took her place back at the front of the line. "So if you are on my flank on some distant planet, I want to know that there is something between me and the aforementioned Gauss Rifle than a fancy title and a puffed up prick who thinks he or she is better than me because their great-granddaddy once fucked a princess. Because the Clansman doesn't give a rat's ass about your lineage anymore than I do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lance Commander," they answered solemnly–except for Yodama and Cox, who barked it out.

"I CAN'T HEEER YOU!" Rhialla shouted with a voice from a sepulcher.

"YES, LANCE COMMANDER!"

"Capital. About face!" The formation did so. Half the unit stomped their feet when they came to attention in the Davion fashion, and half did not. Rhialla shook her head. "Sweet Mother Gaia...Davion idiots! Quit stomping your feet like you're at some cotillion!" Victor made the mistake of looking at her, and Rhialla pounced. "Don't look at me, Victor Ian Steiner-Davion! Looking leads to liking, and liking leads to loving, and loving leads to fucking, and you don't _fuck_ me, boy! " Victor rapidly found something interesting on the horizon. "You _will_ do everything with one single mind! John Clansman isn't going to pick targets according to what House he likes, so you should quit thinking that way." She moved down the line. "You should start thinking like mercenaries," she said with obvious relish as she passed Hohiro Kurita; the muscles of his jaw bunched, but he said nothing. Rhialla gave a barely perceptible nod, then snapped to attention so hard that the leather of her boots smacked together, about-faced on one heel, and faced MacKenzie Wolf. "Sir! Company on parade. Permission to start today's activities."

"I thought you were an officer, Miss Rhialla," MacKenzie laughed, "not a regimental sergeant major."

"Sir! One more of that and I will tear off your mustache and shove it up your ass! I work for a living, sir!" Rhialla snarled. Everyone in the company suppressed snickers and giggles without much success.

Wolf turned red, then slowly relaxed; Rhialla had been right to call him out. "You're correct, Lance Commander. Carry on with today's schedule."

"Thank you, sir!" Rhialla spun again. "Are those _smiles_ I see?" She got next to Ragnar Magnusson. "Are you smiling, Mister Magnusson?"

With effort, Ragnar turned his face into a mask. "No, Lance Commander!"

"Good. Because smiling indicates pleasure, and we're not into that." Ragnar bit his lip, but couldn't keep from a slight smile. "Oh, now you're smiling again, Mister Magnusson." Rhialla suddenly slapped him on the back with enough force to collapse the young man's lungs and laughed uproariously, with completely synthetic humor. "You find me fucking hilarious, don't you?" _There's one in every crowd,_ Sheila thought. The holovids usually showed this in bad war movies to the point that it was a cliche, but it was a cliche because it was true.

"No, Lance Commander." Magnusson composed himself.

"I don't believe you, Mister Magnusson. Strip."

Magnusson's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?"

"I didn't stutter. Strip." When Magnusson hesitated further, Rhialla grabbed the back of his collar and ripped it straight down. "I said strip, you Rasalhagian bastard!" Magnusson needed no further prodding. He quickly pulled off his boots, then unzipped the jumpsuit. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his shorts, which besides his socks was the only clothing he wore, but Rhialla stopped him. "Not so eager, boy! You're not that good looking and I'm not that desperate." She rounded on Cassandra Allard-Liao, who too late tried to wipe the grin off her own face. "Oh, look! Someone else is smiling! Looks like you'd better strip down too, missy."

"You're kidding," Cassandra said with an audible swallow. When Rhialla reached for the front of her jumpsuit, Cassandra quickly grabbed it. "Lance Commander, there are men about!"

"I am _so _pleased to hear that Justin Allard has instilled in his progeny powers of deduction," Rhialla said. "Now _strip!"_

Turning red, which wasn't easy for a woman of Asian descent, Cassandra began doing so. "In fact, I think everyone needs to strip," Rhialla stated, turning around. "NOW!" Victor threw Rhialla a glance, though he was wise enough to say nothing. "I see Mister Steiner-Davion is wondering why I'm subjecting you to public humiliation. The reason is simple, pond scum. If you ever have to eject from a burning 'Mech and find yourself stranded on some asshole of the universe like Twycross or Idlewind, you'll only be wearing a cooling vest and some shorts–not unlike what you have now. You _will_ learn how to survive. I must thank Ragnar Magnusson for the opportunity to introduce this method of learning." She went down the line. "Leave your boots on, Mister Yodama, or I'll order you to cut off your fingers...hmmm...in your case, Mister Allard-Liao, perhaps it is _pubic_ humiliation...well, well, well, Miss Arla-Vlata. I had forgotten you're on your honeymoon here." Now it was Sheila who blushed red from her toes to her face, because she had chosen to wear rather lacy underwear that didn't leave much to the imagination, as she was hoping to corner her husband at some point in the day. "Tomorrow I suggest you wear something a little more regulation. Don't get a hard-on, Mister Cox, she just married that ugly son of a bitch over there...yes, you, Mister Canis; I know your mother and I can say that. Don't worry, you'll get what's left of your wife after all this is over." Satisfied she had insulted everyone, Rhialla looked at the half-clad MechWarriors in front of her. "Right. Let's try for our first heart attack, shall we? 'SHUN!" The company snapped back to attention. "Forrrard...MARCH!"

And so it began: eight hours of physical training. It started with a ten kilometer march over forbidding country, and despite the cool weather and their lack of clothing, they were soon covered in sweat, then an obstacle course. Once they were exhausted, they were "treated" to a lunch not much better than breakfast, of which they only had fifteen minutes to eat, then sent to the training range for basic weapons instruction with heavy, out of date Federated Long Rifles, then bayonet drill. All the time, they were lashed with the leather tongue of Marion Rhialla, for whom nothing was good enough. Ragnar Magnusson became her favorite target. She seemed to use his youth–he was the youngest of all of them, not yet eighteen–and the fact he was from Rasalhague as a weapon.

"What the hell was that?" she shouted in Ragnar's face when he rammed the bayonet home with what he thought was a mighty shout. "Was that a Rasalhagian war cry or a kitten mewling for milk?" She snatched the rifle out of Ragnar's hands, then threw it back into his chest. She stepped back. "All right, you. Stab me."

"What?" That was becoming Ragnar's favorite word.

"Good God. Does Rasalhague give special training in stupidity or were you born with natural talent? Stab me, dammit!"

"Well, okay..." Ragnar gave a half-hearted thrust towards Rhialla's stomach, which was easily slapped away.

"You trying to tickle me with that thing? STAB ME!"

Ragnar's temper blew and he ran it straight at Rhialla–but far too slow. Rhialla once more took the rifle out of the Rasalhagian's grasp, slammed the butt of the rifle back into his stomach, then swept it across his chin. Ragnar dropped to the dirt, blood trickling from a split lip. He lay there, moaning. Rhialla dropped the rifle next to him. "No shame, son. Get up."

"I can't," Ragnar cried. "I can't."

"I said, GET UP!" Rhialla grabbed his arm and began pulling, but suddenly Ragnar grabbed _her_ arm with both hands and slammed her on the ground. He leapt up, face enflamed with anger and fists balled, cursing at her in Swedish. She slowly got to her feet and raised her hands, laughing. Ragnar was confused, the anger draining out of him. "Well done, Ragnar, well done." She slapped him on the shoulder. "Now you're learning, Your Highness. You can walk over to the gym."

"Thank you, Lance Commander!" Ragnar beamed.

"The rest of you get to jog," Rhialla snapped, the smile gone now. "At the double-quick–"

"So all we have to do is beat you?" Sun-Tzu said. "After that, we can take it easy?"

Rhialla's eyes turned red. "Did you just interrupt me, peckerhead? Because it sounded like you did!" she barked in his face. "Just for that, you little shitass, you can carry your rifle over your head, all the way back to the gym, at the _run!"_ When Sun-Tzu opened his mouth to argue, Rhialla popped off the top of her pistol holster. He shut his mouth, slowly picked up his rifle, and ran ahead of the company on the way back. He was vomiting by the time they got to the gymnasium, but he stood at attention with the rest for Rhialla's inspection. Finally they were allowed to dress, then Rhialla paired them off in teams–to fight each other, bare-handed. "Federat Common Idiots and St. Elmo's Compact on this side," Rhialla said with inhuman joy. "All the other fools on the other side. Pair off and try to kill each other." She pointed at Sheila and Max. "Except you two. Everyone else, go!"

As the others paired off into teams, Max bent to whisper in Rhialla's ear. "Marion, why aren't you letting us fight?"

"Take a look, Major." The company had divided itself along ideological lines. Hohiro Kurita squared off with Victor Steiner-Davion; Kai Allard-Liao with Sun-Tzu; Galen Cox and Shin Yodama, the two veterans, with each other. That left Cassandra Allard-Liao fighting Ragnar Magnusson by default. "The only ones you'd get to fight is each other, and next thing I know you'd be doing each other right there on the mat."

"Marion!" Sheila exclaimed.

"Besides," Rhialla went on as if she hadn't heard, raising her voice, "who's going to take you on, Sheila? You stood toe-to-toe with a Clanswoman. You'd smoke any one of these pantywaists." That earned them glares. "What're you staring at us for?" Rhialla yelled. "Get back to fighting, you there! Ragnar! Are you trying to wrestle Miss Allard-Liao or are you trying to cop a feel? Move it, you clod!"

Finally, it was allowed to end. Rhialla gleefully informed them that she would be kicking them out of their bunks at 0600 the next morning, and let them go for the day. Everyone was tired, bruised, cold, and filthy. As they hit the showers, it was MacKenzie Wolf's turn to inflict yet another ordeal upon them–a formal reception in an hour, with all expected to attend in full dress uniform. That sent a great groan through the nobles, who wanted nothing more than a shower and bed, but they had to go.


	4. Ghosts of the Past and the Future

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Short chapter this time around, as I want to save something for the next chapter. Again, the dialogue is mostly taken from _Blood Legacy. _Long time Battletech fans might like the "shape of things to come" aside in the middle of the story with Victor Steiner-Davion._

_This chapter isn't as funny as the last one; in fact, it's pretty serious. I hope that I give the impression that Sheila Arla-Vlata is more than a little afraid of Romano Liao; besides the Mary Sue factor, being in the same room with Romano would be similar to being in the same room as Hitler. And I'll admit that once more some of Marion Rhialla's dialogue is similar to that in movies, namely Sgt. Mulcahy in _Glory _and John Wayne's Sgt. Stryker in _Sands of Iwo Jima. _But that's how we'd like all noncoms to sound, right?_

"I hurt in places I didn't even know existed." Victor Steiner-Davion leaned against a column outside the Dragoons' headquarters.

"I'm sorry," Sheila replied. "Honestly. I brought in Marion Rhialla because I thought she'd command more respect than I or Max would–at least where the others were involved. I didn't think she'd take so much...um...pleasure in abuse."

Max chuckled, sipping at his wine glass. "She's probably been praying for something like this."

"More than likely," Victor agreed. "I don't have a problem with that–she's right about the titles thing. Too many of us get hung up on that. But still...obstacle courses? Basic weapon instruction? Cross-country marches half nude? Were those your ideas, Sheila? I understand MacKenzie Wolf put you in charge of this."

"He put me in charge of showing you guys how to fight the Clans and win. The other stuff was Marion's idea, though you can bet she talked it over with Wolf on the way over."

"Then the Dragoons are selling us out, Sheila. This is a waste of time."

"Actually, Victor, I don't think it is." Kai Allard-Liao joined them. Like Victor, they wore the formal uniform of the 10th Lyran Guards; Sheila and Max were in the blue-and-white of the Snowbirds. "Lance Commander Rhialla's trying to get us to quit thinking of each other as enemies or rival Houses. She's trying to get us to act like a team. Remember what Jaime Wolf said: we've got to meet the Clans with everything we've got. That means a united front. We didn't train together, so we haven't had a chance to build that teamwork that other units would already have."

"So why did Rhialla split us up into two teams for that unarmed combat thing? So much for unity."

"I don't know," Kai smiled. "I thought you and Hohiro hit it off well."

Victor gave Kai a dirty look, then smiled ruefully. "Blood will out, I guess."

"I apologize for not having made a better showing of things today."

"Don't worry about it." Victor gave Kai a friendly punch on the shoulder. "None of us were in top form. As I saw it, as long as you beat Sun-Tzu at anything, we were ahead of the game. Zandra smoked Ragnar across the board and Galen kept trading off with Shin. Damned Hohiro beat hell out of me. That's why we came in second best." He thumbed at Sheila. "Why didn't they get to fight?"

"Marion told us not to," Max explained. "She was afraid Sheila and I would pair off and...well, let's just say her next words were X-rated."

"Everything that woman says is X-rated," Victor sighed, "but I can guess." He grinned at them. "Though I notice you got here a little late tonight. How's that honeymoon coming along?"

"Fine," Sheila growled in a Rhialla-like voice. "And speaking of 'damned Hohiro,' there he is, two o'clock." Sheila was glad that the heir of the Draconis Combine had made an appearance further down the terrace they were standing on. Victor was more right than he knew about Sheila and Max being tardy–they had waited until the showers were empty and the others had left, having decided to save the Dragoons some water by showering together–but that was none of Victor's business. Hohiro was alone, but looked over at Victor and the others. He gave them a polite nod and nothing more, and Victor was surprised at how much he relished the memory of trying to choke him during the unarmed combat training, paying the Kuritan back in his own coin. Yet Victor suspected that Hohiro and himself were more alike than either wanted to admit: both were out on the terrace rather than in the reception hall because the conversation inside was between mercenaries and commoners–veterans like Galen Cox and Shin Yodama, MacKenzie Wolf and Christian Kell. Victor wanted to be in there as well–like most MechWarriors, despite themselves, they were never more happier to be talking shop–but also knew that his title would get in the way. Rather than debate with him or talk to him as an equal, they would defer to his rank and his status as heir to the throne; Hohiro would be in the same position, except worse, as insults in the Draconis Combine were often repaid with death. A single misspoken word and Hohiro could legally ask the other person to commit ritual suicide, or even kill them himself. Suddenly, Victor knew why Marion Rhialla had acted the way she did, and resolved to complain less in the future.

Still, that didn't mean that others shouldn't enjoy a night of freedom. "Kai, you should be in there. I bet every officer in the place wants to know what it's like to square off with a company of OmniMechs." Victor instantly regretted the words, remembering belatedly how Kai felt about Twycross, and the responsibility he cursed himself with for the loss of the infantry squad in the Great Gash.

"No, I don't think so–and it's not for the reason you think," Kai replied with a slight smile. "Romano is cruising that crowd like a hungry shark, and I don't want to be anywhere near her. Out here, we're safe because she doesn't have an audience."

"Wait. _Romano Liao_'s in there?" Sheila asked, aghast.

"Well, certainly. It is a formal reception–"

Sheila and Max looked at each other and began heading inside. "Marion Rhialla's in there as well," she said over her shoulder.

"Not good," Kai whispered. Victor nodded, then was distracted by four more people leaving the ball even as Sheila and Max went in. Three of them were Ragnar Magnusson, and Cassandra and Kuan Yin Allard-Liao. The fourth was a beautiful Oriental woman he didn't recognize, though by the cut of her dress he knew she had to be Kuritan. "Kai, who is that speaking with Kuan Yin?"

* * *

Sheila literally bumped into Tooriu Kku, who was holding forth with a group of Dragoons, listening to his recollection of Pascia Grove. "I tell ya," he was saying in his stentorian voice, "these Clanners are a little overrated. This guy came at me with a _Man O'War,_ right? Underarmed as shit–a couple'a popgun ACs and a rack or two of SRMs against my three PPCs. What a dope! Hell, we know how they configure their 'Mechs; you'd think they'd learn how we configure our stuff–oh, hi, Sheila." Before she could ask him where Marion Rhialla was, he half-dragged her into the circle. "Now this little lady–" this in spite of the fact that Tooriu was only five inches taller than she was "–this little lady DFA'd a _Mad Cat_ on Twycross and beat up a Clan MechWarrior! Now is that cool or what?" He took a big gulp of beer.

"Tooriu," Sheila said quickly before he could continue, "where's Marion?"

"Oh, over by the bar. She was buying Morgan Kell a drink, I think. Anyway, this little–"

"Thanks!" Sheila hurried away, following Max, who was waving at her. Tooriu stood there for a moment, mouth open, then shrugged and took another drink. "So there I was with this _Thor_, see…"

* * *

Max had found Marion Rhialla. Unfortunately, so had Romano Liao. The ruler of the Capellan Confederation, looking resplendent in a green silk gown that flattered her still-impressive body, stood on the edge of a rough crescent of assorted MechWarriors, nobles, and military attaches, fists on hips. Four meters from her, at the bar with her back turned, sat Marion Rhialla, who wore the Snowbirds' uniform and held a bottle of whiskey. "Marion Rhialla!" Romano shouted, and the conversation in the room dipped to near silence.

Rhialla slowly turned on the stool. The two women stared daggers at each other, then Marion swigged back the whiskey. "Romano Liao," she growled. "What can I do for you, Your Highhandedness?"

Romano's eyes blazed in fury. "How dare you talk to me in such a fashion? You know who I am!"

Marion slid off the barstool slowly. Max saw imminent disaster and rather courageously moved to intercept her. Marion grinned at him and waved him off. "I know who you are, Romano. You're the head of House Liao, Mother of Wisdom, Keeper of the Celestial Throne, and the Great Leader of the Capellan Confederation." She took another drink of whiskey. "You're also responsible for the death of my battalion, whom you had shot, but that's besides the point, isn't it? Just a drop in the bucket compared to all the others of your own country you've slaughtered."

"I've killed traitors, if that's what you mean," Romano smiled.

"Oh yeah, my Legionnaires are traitors," Rhialla replied, her voice surprisingly even. "I surrendered rather than be overrun and killed to the last man on Kittery." She finished the whiskey and tossed it over her shoulder; the shatterproof bottle bounced on the floor. "But that's not the point, is it, Romano? You're pissed because I smacked around your son this morning."

"Yes!" Romano snarled triumphantly. "How dare you lay hands on my son!"

"I dunno." She waved a hand in the general direction of Theodore Kurita, who stood some distance off in a knot of white-clad Kurita officers. "Ask Teddy. I insulted his son to his face this morning–or ask old man Magnusson if he's around. I made his son strip to his skivvies." To Sheila's horror, Marion pointed at her. "Ask Sheila. She said you signed off on me."

"I agree, only because Jaime Wolf assured me so, that _she–_" Romano flung a finger at Sheila "–would teach my son how to survive against the Clans. Not be humiliated by a washed-up mercenary!"

Sheila decided to step in before blood got shed. She walked over and got between Rhialla and Romano. "Your Highness," she said lowly, with a respectful bow to Liao, "she's drunk. I'll take of it."

Rhialla gently but forcefully pushed Sheila to one side. "I'm not drunk, Sheila," she said, which was true. "I have not yet begun to defile myself." She got within two paces of Romano. "I'll tell you, Romano. I'll tell you straight why I'm so hard on your son."

"Enlighten me," Romano snapped.

"You love him, don't you? You're not so far gone as to hate your own son, I should hope."

"Of course not."

"You watched him grow up."

"Yes, yes," Romano said impatiently. "Get to the point!"

"Let him grow up a little more." Rhialla stepped back. "If I'm ever on a battlefield with the Clans and there's a Liao unit on my flank with your son at it's head, I want someone who can fight. Right now, your son couldn't fight his way out of a whorehouse. So unless you want to see Sun-Tzu mailed home in a small bag, you'll let me ride him until he falls down, because when he gets up, he just might be worthy of all those titles you Liaos like. At least he'll put up more of a fight than your father did. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to drink a lot so I can pass out early. I've got a long day tomorrow."

Romano grabbed Rhialla's arm. "For what you have said," she hissed, "I'll see you dead."

"Get in line." Rhialla pulled away her arm and returned to the bar, leaving Sheila alone with Romano Liao, which was the last place in the universe she wanted to be. Sheila swallowed: Romano was looking at her like a cobra contemplating its dinner.

"Control her," Liao hissed, "or I'll kill you too."

"Chancellor Liao!" Jaime Wolf's voice thundered through the room. He stepped from the crowd. "This is my house. I will remind you that you do not rule here. You will _not_ threaten my guests."

Romano stared at him with pure hatred, then suddenly smiled. "Of course, Colonel Wolf. I apologize if you were offended." A glance at Sheila told her that Romano was not apologizing in the least. With a rustle of green silk, the Chancellor was gone into the crowd.

"Don't worry, Sheila," Wolf said, turning to face her. "Romano's reach does not extend as far as the Clan front."

They both knew it was a lie.


	5. A Little Morning Sickness For You

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Three words: safe sex, kids. Even fictional characters have to practice it. The funny part is, as I write this, a good friend of mine is in labor with her first little Decepticon…er, baby. Pure coincidence, I assure you._

_Some of this chapter is fairly humorous, but some of it is kinda sad, too. And yes, the doctor is a less-than-subtle _Inu-Yasha_ reference. I'm putting aside my Evangelion story for awhile (again) and going back to the Bone-Eater's Well for a bit. Not to worry, though--this story has priority over all but life._

_Neko: No worries. Kat: Yep, Romano is scary. That chapter is somewhat writing itself, so we'll see how it pans out._

For all the talk of forcing the royals to "rough it," each had their own room in a rather plush Visiting Officers' Quarters of the Dragoons' headquarters. Sheila and Max had also moved into the VOQ from the hotel, again in solidarity and because returning to the bridal suite every night was too much of a temptation to remain there in the morning.

At 0500, everyone was roughly jarred awake by the sound of a glass bottle being run around the interior of a steel garbage can, and then said garbage can being flung down the hall of the royals' wing. It landed with a tremendous crash, and if that wasn't enough to wake everyone up, Marion Rhialla's shouts of "GET UP! GET UP! ON YOUR FEET!" certainly was. To make doubly sure, she opened the door and yelled into the rooms.

"What in blazes…" Cassandra Allard-Liao looked at the clock on the wall. "Lance Commander Rhialla, it's 0500, not 0600!"

"So I can't tell time!" Rhialla shouted over her shoulder. At a bleary looking Ragnar, she growled, "Or maybe some Clanner will decide to attack before you get your wakeup call at the Hilton! Either way, you're getting up right now!" She slammed her hand down on the open switch to Max and Sheila's room. "Wakey wakey, lovebirds! Time for another glorious day of training!"

Both were already awake; it was impossible to sleep through any of Rhialla's antics. Max was already getting dressed, but Rhialla noticed Sheila did not look at all well. "What's wrong, Miss Arla-Vlata, have too much fun last night?" she said loudly, but the look of concern on Rhialla's face belied her words.

"I'm fine," Sheila growled, but the poisonous green tinge to _her_ face belied _her_ words.

"Get dressed and fall out." Rhialla thumbed behind her.

"Yes, Lance—" Sheila stood, wavered, and abruptly her hand shot to her mouth. She shoved Max aside and ran to the bathroom, from which the sound of her being violently sick came.

* * *

Five minutes later, everyone was assembled in jumpsuits as they had the day before, all at attention in the hallway. Rhialla inspected them, and ostentatiously took a deep breath. "Smells like someone had a fire sale on muscle relaxers in here," she grinned. "Well, better get used to it. We're doing the same thing today." She looked at Sun-Tzu. "What do you think of that, Mister Liao?"

He smiled wryly. "As you said, pleasure is not our business here."

Rhialla raised an eyebrow. "Well, well…I see you're learning, Mister Liao. Keep it up, and the Capellan Confederation might just give the FedCom a run for its money next time, instead of being Hanse Davion's bitch." Sun-Tzu's fists involuntarily balled, and Rhialla nodded. "Don't like that, Mister Liao?"

"No, Lance Commander, I do not."

"Think I'm picking on you?"

"Yes, Lance Commander, I do."

"You're right. Next time you see your mother, ask her what happened to Tigerstripe's Legionnaires." She walked down the line to Hohiro and Victor, who by pure accident had ended up standing next to each other. "Ah, you two. How are you this morning?" Both stayed silent. "I noticed you having some words on the balcony last night. How about sharing with the rest of us what was said?"

Both hesitated, then Hohiro said sharply, "With respect, Lance Commander—it is none of your business."

"Really? How interesting...is that the way of it, Mister Steiner-Davion?"

Victor, after a moment, nodded. "Yes, Lance Commander."

"Ah, but I disagree. So how about you tell us…right now."

Hohiro and Victor actually shared a glance, then Victor shook his head. "No, Lance Commander. I respectfully refuse."

Rhialla slammed her hand against the wall, inches from Victor's head, and loomed over him. "I SAID TELL ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

Victor stood his ground. "Lance Commander, it has nothing to do with the training—"

"I WILL DETERMINE WHAT ANYTHING HAS TO DO WITH THE TRAINING, FUCKTARD!" She whirled on Hohiro. "Okay, fine—obviously the FedCom has lost its balls today, Mister Kurita. Maybe you'd like to tell me what was said."

"No, Lance Commander. Mister Steiner-Davion is correct; it has nothing to do with—"

"Keep contradicting me, you asshole of a snake, and I will see you cutting out your own guts before nightfall!"

That pushed Hohiro beyond the breaking point, but before he could lunge at Rhialla, Cassandra abruptly spoke. "Oh, for God's sake! Lance Commander Rhialla, it was about Omi Kurita!"

"You be quiet—" Hohiro began, but Rhialla slapped her hand across his mouth. The temerity of her move—nobody in the Combine touched the Heir-Designate without express permission—so shocked Hohiro that he didn't stop her. Rhialla looked at Cassandra. "Continue, Miss Allard-Liao."

With a helpless shrug at Victor and Hohiro, Cassandra said, "Victor saw Omi Kurita with the Kurita group. He asked who she was, and Hohiro told him."

"And…"

Cassandra swallowed. "And Hohiro told Victor never to speak with her again."

Rhialla took her hands away from Hohiro and stepped back, laughing. "So, Mister Steiner-Davion looked at your sister, and you told him to knock it off, Mister Kurita? All this over a girl?"

Hohiro massaged his jaw. The only thing that kept him from trying to kill Rhialla on the spot was his father's orders. "Yes," he snarled.

Rhialla shook her head. "That, Mister Kurita, at least makes sense. I'd hate to see the day when men are afraid to mix it up over a pretty lady. What lesson do we take away from all this, boys and girls?"

Since she was obviously waiting for an answer, Ragnar spoke up, eager to please. "Don't stare at other guys' sisters," he said with painful naivete. Cox and Yodama simutaneously began sadly shaking their heads.

"No, no," Rhialla corrected them. "It's all right. When Mister Magnusson grows up he'll know what the adults are speaking about. What I mean is, Mister Kurita and Mister Steiner-Davion kept the faith. Both are absolutely right: whether or not Mister Steiner-Davion is playing hide the katana with Omi Kurita is none of my damn business. And neither were willing to back up from me." She smiled at Hohiro and Victor. "Fancy that. The scion of Steiner and Davion, and the scion of Kurita covering for each other. I should be put in for the Jerome Blake Peace Prize." Her voice abruptly cracked through the hallway. "That is, if I was interested in peace, and I'm NOT! I _love_ _war!_ 'SHUN! ABOUT FACE!" Out of the corner of one eye, she noticed Max joining the line. "Mister Canis-Vlata! So _pleased_ you could join us. Is Miss Arla-Vlata quite recovered, or did you have to pump her stomach from the inside?"

Max ignored the rather crude sexual comment. "Lance Commander, I request permission to take Miss Arla-Vlata to sick bay."

"Eh? Why? I had Mister Liao here puking up his breakfast yesterday and he didn't go to ill bay. She can't make it on her own?"

"No, Lance Commander, she can't." Max's voice was steel.

Rhialla had already understood he would disobey whatever order she gave him, so she sighed mightily. "Very well. Once you've carried the poor, sickened little woman over to the docs, rejoin us at the confidence course. If it's not too much trouble." The look they shared told Max that Rhialla was putting on a show; there was real concern there for Sheila.

"Yes, Lance Commander."

"Dismissed."

"He gets a pass because his _wife_ is sick?" Sun-Tzu protested. "That's ridiculous."

Rhialla patted him on the head with fake sweetness. "It's okay, Mister Liao. When you figure out what your pecker is for besides taking a leak, you'll understand." Before Sun-Tzu could say anything further, Rhialla had them double-timing out the door.

* * *

Max didn't have to carry Sheila to the medical center in the Dragoons complex, but it was a near thing. Sheila kept throwing up. The medics checked her over, then ushered her into a waiting room. The morning and then noon went past with no word. Max waited impatiently, pacing the floor, while Sheila was shuttled from room to room in battery after battery of tests. When one of those rooms was labeled OB-GYN, his heart jumped more than a little.

They had taken precautions, of course. Now was no time for Sheila to get pregnant, with a war ready to be renewed at any time, new to command, and now with a group of recalcitrant royals to train. They had talked about children, of course; Sheila was lukewarm to the idea as long as there was a war on, but had said it would be worth looking into once things calmed down. Max had to admit he wasn't ready to be a father even without the Clans, and he feared leaving a child fatherless, motherless, or worse, both. As Morgan Kell had said, being a MechWarrior was not a safe profession. Both he and Sheila had been lucky; neither set of their parents had died, despite being very much in the thick of fighting, but Max's own father Todd had been badly injured before Max was born. Max only knew what his father looked like without terrible scars on his face and his artificial eye from holos. He knew many in the Sentinels who only knew their father or mother at all from holos. Some didn't have even that; Maysa Bari, for instance, was the quintessential orphan child, even to the point of being left in a pram in front of the Sentinels' base on Zebelgenubi. Maysa Bari wasn't even her real name, but one given her by Marion Rhialla. She had been raised by the regiment, learning to walk, talk and play in coolant-scarred 'Mech bays and home-schooled by Rhialla, her unofficial adopted mother. Bari was an extreme case, but there were plenty of orphans to go around in the Sentinels alone. Max didn't want to add another.

Now it looked like fate had other ideas. Birth control in the history of mankind had never been 100 percent reliable, and there had been times he and Sheila had foregone it in the heat of passion—_oh God, the shower yesterday,_ Max thought with a sinking feeling. _Still, she wouldn't have gotten morning sickness _that _quick…_

He began enumerating the times he could remember that either he or Sheila had skipped birth control, then counting the weeks and months since that time, and trying to remember when Sheila had her period last. Before he could settle on a firm date, he was interrupted by a female Dragoon doctor. "Major Canis-Vlata?"

"Y-Yes?" he answered, his voice cracking.

The doctor smiled. "No reason to sound frightened, Major. Your wife is fine. I'm Doctor Higurashi, by the way." They shook hands, and she led him towards a waiting room.

Max couldn't help himself. "Is she…um…p-pregnant?"

Higurashi looked somber. "Let's talk about it in the room." Max's mind went whirling with all kinds of doom-filled thoughts at that. If Sheila was pregnant, one might expect the doctor to be at least somewhat happy.

He felt better when he saw Sheila. She was still pale, but at least the color in her face wasn't Steiner field green. Nor was she in a hospital gown, but back in her jumpsuit. "Hey, babe," he said, grinning stupidly and not caring.

"Hi, lover." She sounded better as well. They kissed and hugged. Max didn't think Sheila felt fragile or anything that pregnant women were supposed to feel like. They parted and faced Doctor Higurashi together, holding hands.

"First of all, Commander Arla-Vlata," Higurashi began, "I want to say that you are not in any sort of life-threatening situation healthwise."

Sheila laughed, a little weakly. "I figured that, Doc. But am I…"

Higurashi paused, then shook her head. "No, Commander. You're not pregnant."

"Whew!" Sheila let out her breath. "I wouldn't mind having children at some point, Doctor, but you know, with the Clans at all…and I'm only nineteen."

"That's…the problem," Higurashi said after a pause. "Maybe you'd better sit down, both of you." She motioned to some chairs.

Sheilaand Max looked confused, but sat. "What is?" Sheila asked. "That I'm nineteen?"

"No, Commander." Higurashi pulled up a chair. "I admit that when you were brought in this morning, given the symptoms of vomiting and general body aches, plus the fact that you admitted that you missed your last period, pregnancy was the first thing I and the other doctors thought of. That's why we ran all those tests and took you to our gynecologist. But as I said, you're not pregnant. In fact, the vomiting and body ache is the result of food poisoning."

"The rations the Dragoons fed us yesterday morning," Sheila said, souring. "I knew I shouldn't have had the banana pudding. It smelled funny."

"Did anyone else eat it?"

"No," Sheila sighed.

"That's what it was, then." Higurashi reached forward and lightly tapped Sheila's right side; Sheila winced. "That's another reason, Commander. My understanding is that you fought a Clan MechWarrior barehanded, and neither one of you looked too good after the fight." She consulted a datapad. "In fact, the determination of the doctor on Planting was that you suffered broken cartilage in your nose, a black eye, numerous bruises, a concussion, a twisted ankle, and two cracked ribs. You're young, Miss Arla-Vlata, and I'm sure your regiment's medical staff knows what they're about, but even when you're nineteen, you simply can't just rebound from damage like that and start running confidence courses and such in less than a month's time." She held up a hand. "I know what you told the doctor—it's all right here—that you're a fast healer, but you must take things slowly. Which brings me to the next item on the list. Your missed menstruation is also not a result of pregnancy, but severe stress."

"Stress? Me?"

"Yes, Commander, you. You have been on continual combat operations since August of last year. Before that, you were under tremendous pressure at the Nagelring in your senior year."

"But I didn't miss periods there!"

"These things add up over time, Commander. I doubt you're due for a mental breakdown, but there is only so much a body can take before it demands rest. Remember the old MechWarrior adage that severe arterial bleeding is nature's way of telling you to slow down? That's an exaggeration, of course, but it's true. You need to slow down, Miss Arla-Vlata. You're on honeymoon; take it easy."

"I can't," Sheila protested. "Colonel Wolf has assigned me—"

"I know; I spoke with him. No more joining the physical training, Commander. You are to limit yourself to classroom teaching for the next two weeks. I will allow simulator time, but no live-fire exercises for at least a month, preferably two. That's doctor's orders, Commander. I won't be responsible for what happens if they're disobeyed."

Sheila slumped, but she admitted to herself that Higurashi was probably right. She had asked around: Higurashi was a specialist in "female problems," but before that she had been a combat medic. Though she was only six years older than Sheila, field medics saw more in their short tours of duty than big city emergency rooms saw in a lifetime.

Max patted his wife's shoulder in sympathy, though he was actually glad that someone was telling her to slow down a little. Sheila had always been a bundle of nervous energy, but Max had been worried about her burning out. "That's fine, Doc. Everything working okay?"

"Oh, certainly. Other than having an upset stomach and still needing to recover from being in a fistfight with a Clanner—which, from what I hear, is no mean feat—your wife is in relatively good health. Give her a few weeks of rest, and she'll be in the pink."

"So why the long face?" Sheila asked.

Higurashi sighed. "That's the last item on the list, Commander—the one I really wish I didn't have to talk about. There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it.

"Miss Arla-Vlata…you can't have children."

Sheila looked stunned, then laughed in confusion. "What?"

"I'm not joking, Miss Arla-Vlata. Our tests confirmed it. You are unable to get pregnant."

"But that's impossible! I have my period—or at least when I'm not being beat up by Jade Falcons—" Sheila went pale. "Wait…that fight…"

"No, Miss Arla-Vlata. This isn't a result of the fight, or any combat injury. I'm afraid it's a genetic condition. To put it somewhat clinically, which is to say coldly, your ova are sterile. Not knowing what your husband's sperm count is, I can't say whether or not he's virile, but he could be the most verile male in the galaxy and never get you pregnant." She put a motherly hand on Sheila's leg. "Trust me, Sheila. The Dragoons probably know more about genetics than anyone in the Inner Sphere. We helped Morgan Kell's wife Salome have children, and she did suffer from combat-related injuries." Higurashi sighed again. "I don't know why it's like this. Genetics are tricky. From what I've heard, your family traces a lineage back to the Amaris War, so maybe it's from your mother's side…I don't know. We can run more tests, Commander, but frankly short of divine intervention, you will never be able to have children."


	6. Clan Interlude I: Bloodname

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Originally I had meant for this chapter to be told later, in flashback, but after reading Kat Wylder's great _Nibelung _story, inspiration struck. (And the muse has been a little quiet lately, which is why I haven't been updating as much as usual.) So the focus is temporarily off Sheila and the Snowbirds for this chapter…but you can bet that this is a setup for later chapters. (I will promise that Sheila isn't going to join the Clans, though. I may rip off some of Stackpole's schtick, but not _that _much.)_

_I'm not sure about the layout of the various Clan halls on Strana Mechty, so any errors are mine alone. Again, I have slightly changed Battletech canon in having Cavell Malthus as saKhan instead of Vandervahn Chistu, but there's a good reason for that. Also, I'm not sure if Marthe Pryde had won her Bloodname by 3051, but I'm guessing she had, as Aidan Pryde (see _The Jade Phoenix _trilogy) won his during this time. Finally, Senefa's comments on Phelan Kell (here, Phelan Wolf) aren't meant as a potshot at Stackpole or his characters, but simply Senefa's general opinion of the rest of humanity. She's got a lot of pride, and we know wither that goeth…_

_For those of you who care, this chapter takes place during Chapter 5 of _Blood Legacy; _Senefa enters the Hall of the Wolves immediately after the end of page 49. How's _that _for paying attention to canon?_

_Kat: I was glad I was able to surprise you a bit at least. I figured I'd given away the farm. _

* * *

_Clan Council Chamber, Eyrie of the Falcons_

_Strana Mechty, Clan Homeworlds_

_5 February 3051_

Cavell Malthus smiled beneath the hawkheaded mask he wore. The huge council chamber set aside for Clan Jade Falcon was stygian dark, lit only by a single small flame and one spotlight, that shone on the warrior, alone and unmasked, kneeling before him. He had done this ritual before, but this time he felt particularly proud.

"While all those deeds mark you as special, your taking of a Bloodname exalts you above the mere Warriors with and against whom you have fought," he intoned ritually and solemnly. "Ten and ten and five are the number who bear the same surname as you do. With it, you become a member of the Clan Council and are eligible for election to even greater office and responsibility."

Malthus hesitated for just a moment. "Your Bloodname is a worthy one. Fifteen have worn it before you, and none have been less than Star Colonels. Twelve have become Khans." There was a ruffle of feathers at that—literally, because the unseen gathering of Jade Falcon MechWarriors wore feathered capes. Traditionally, the words spoken were 'your Bloodname has a proud pedigree,' reminding the chosen that they had a responsibility to those that came before. This Bloodname, however, was somewhat sullied, even if Cavell did not believe it himself.

Moving forward, literally and figuratively, Malthus reached out his gloved right hand. "Give me your dagger." The MechWarrior did, and Malthus sliced her palm. Blood trickled down and hissed as it struck the flame. Cavell flipped the dagger around and handed it back to the warrior. "All are to abide by the rede given here. Thus it shall stand until we all shall fall." The assembled Jade Falcons repeated the words. "Then rise, warrior. From now and for all time, you are known among all the Clans as Senefa Malthus."

The lights came up, and the sound of clapping was swiftly drowned out by the loud, terrifying screech of the jade falcon, imitated by a few of the warriors present. Those few pressed forward to offer their congratulations to the newly Blooded MechWarrior, but many merely gathered up their capes and filed out. It was not insult enough to merit a challenge, but it was the Clan's way of letting Senefa Malthus know that her Bloodname was tainted, and so was she. Cavell Malthus took off the heavy, winged helmet of his office and noted that Khan Elias Crichell, the senior Khan of the Jade Falcons, had quickly made his way to the center of the chamber, shook hands with Senefa, and just as quickly departed, having done just enough to satisfy honor. Vandervahn Chistu had not bothered to even do that, merely waited and followed Crichell out with what Cavell thought was doglike devotion. Involuntarily, Cavell's hands curled into fists. One way or another, he would see Vandervahn dead before the invasion was done.

Weary of politics, Cavell walked down the stairs on the dais, and waited as Senefa was congratulated by Marthe Pryde, recently promoted to Star Colonel and command of the 2nd Falcon Jaegers for her brilliant performance on Planting. He was somewhat surprised to see that: Marthe was known for her fanatical devotion to Clan tradition and naked ambition. Perhaps she saw Senefa as an ally. Even more surprising was that Marthe actually enfolded Senefa in a comradely hug.

She was the last, leaving Cavell alone with Senefa in the chamber. He studied the young woman for a moment. Senefa was just a little over twenty-one, making her the youngest Jade Falcon to earn a Bloodname, and second only to Natasha Kerensky of the Wolves in the entirety of the Clans. She was tall, slender, and beautiful; unlike many MechWarriors, she wore her black hair long and unbound. In the semidarkness of the chamber, her green eyes seemed to glow. Cavell saw Senefa as something akin to a daughter: she had some of his genes, part of a sibko that included both his genetic legacy and that of Galaxy Commander Samantha Clees, in an effort to combine a fighter pilot's reflexes with a MechWarrior's stamina. If Senefa was any indication, the experiment was a success. He put out a hand, an unguarded, broad smile on his face. "Once more, Senefa Malthus, welcome."

She took the hand with a small bow. "Thank you, saKhan."

"None of that, _quiaff_? You can address me as Cavell. We are of the same blood, now."

"Thank you," Senefa merely repeated. Cavell had wanted something more—why, he did not know—but was satisfied that Senefa fell in with him as they left the Chamber. Both were silent as they walked into the crisp air of Strana Mechty, past the two ceremonial _Summoners_ that stood guard outside the winged entrance to the Jade Falcons' council chamber. Their attention was drawn to a crowd outside the Hall of the Wolves, which like all the Clans' council buildings encircled the Great Chamber at its center, where the Clan Grand Kulturai met. Like their Jade Falcon rivals, the Wolves were dressed in formal uniforms, all fur and snarling wolf masks. "What is going on with the Wolves?" Senefa asked.

"Oh, that." Cavell wanted to fill the silence between them, but not with this. "The Wolves are debating whether or not to uphold Khan Ulric Kerensky's adoption of Phelan into their Clan."

"Phelan—the freebirth Inner Sphere warrior, _quiaff_?"

"Aff." Cavell could not pick out the young man with the smug, arrogant eyes from the crowd, but it was likely he was already inside the Hall. Phelan was another man Cavell wanted dead, and indeed had eagerly accepted the Wolves' invitation to participate in the former Inner Sphere warrior's adoption ceremony—with full knowledge that he, along with the Smoke Jaguars and Ghost Bears, would vote for Phelan's death. It was more of a formality than anything else, as Khan Ulric had already made the decision to adopt Phelan, but Cavell wanted it on record the Jade Falcon's stance on freebirths, especially enemy ones that deserved perpetual bondsmanship or a grave.

"Why did they adopt him? He has done nothing to warrant it," Senefa said. "From what I have heard, all he did was to get shot out of his 'Mech in the early months of the invasion."

"He acted as a valuable advisor to Khan Ulric." Cavell hated to admit it, but Ulric's plan had been brilliant: while the other Clans had simply bulled forward, demanding the Inner Sphere honor _batchall_ and acting surprised when the other side lied or cheated, Ulric had been arming himself with information that allowed himself to see through Spherian obfuscations. Cavell had it on good authority that it had been Phelan's advice that had led Ulric to bid away the Wolves' battleship _Dire Wolf_ in the assault on Rasalhague, neatly undercutting the Ghost Bears' bid to take that world. "And he did save Ulric's life when the ilKhan was killed at Radstadt."

"I see." Senefa's eyes roamed over the gathered Wolves. "Where is he from, this Phelan—originally?"

"From the Lyran Commonwealth, I believe. Why?"

"I am curious, my Khan. Did he attend their military academy, the Nagelring?"

Warning bells went off in Cavell Malthus' brain, but he answered Senefa's question nonetheless. "I seem to recall that he did, from the results of his interrogation after he was captured." When Senefa abruptly changed course towards the Wolves, Cavell instantly regretted telling her.

At Senefa's approach, a few Wolves angrily turned towards her. "Go away, Jade Falcon!" one snarled at her. "This is Wolf ground, not for featherbrains like yourself!" There were laughs from the Wolves; there was no love lost between the two Clans. Senefa ignored the jibe and would've simply pushed her way in, had not Cavell caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hold, Senefa. He is right; this is Wolf territory. We are not allowed here." That was not entirely true, as Clans often invited each other into council halls, and it was not unknown for one to merely show up uninvited, though that usually ended in a Trial of Grievance.

Senefa caught herself. "Of course, my Khan." She did not apologize; Jade Falcons apologized to no one, much less Wolves.

"Maybe she wants to look at our new freebirth pup!" someone laughed from the crowd.

"That must be it!" The one who had told Senefa to go away stepped forward. He was an Elemental, and loomed over Senefa. "The Jade Falcons have a thing for freebirths—or being beaten by them!"

Senefa, in one fluid motion, turned and delivered a savage kick to the Elemental's groin. Caught unprepared, the Wolf sucked in his breath in pain and dropped to his knees. This brought him in range of Senefa's fist, which she then smashed into his nose. He was on the ground bleeding and wheezing before the other Wolves could react. Once the shock wore off, however, the Wolves began to press forward angrily. "Star Colonel Senefa Malthus!" Cavell shouted, wanting to remind Senefa of her responsibility and the Wolves who they were dealing with. "I order you to withdraw!" The Malthus bloodline was tainted enough: he wasn't about to let its newest member end her days being beaten to death by a Wolf mob.

"Wolves, enough!" A woman's voice stayed the crowd, allowing Senefa to pull back to its periphery. Dressed in grayish wolf fur—real fur, Cavell realized, not the synthetic kind that most of the other Wolves wore—the woman was shorter than nearly all of them, and much older, her white hair long and lustrous. Despite her age, however, she still moved with quick sinousity and spoke with authority, as befitting a MechWarrior and a former saKhan of the Wolves. Most warriors would not respect someone so old as being beyond their prime. Cavell considered those people fools. He bowed his head in respect. "House Master Cyrilla Ward. A pleasure to see you again."

"I doubt that, saKhan Cavell Malthus," Cyrilla smiled, "but greetings nonetheless." She nodded to Senefa. "Star Colonel Senefa Malthus. I had heard that Adler Malthus' Bloodname was open." Cyrilla's smile grew wider as the subtle reminder of why the Bloodname had been open hit home with both Malthuses. Adler had been killed in the Great Gash on Twycross, drawn into a gigantic trap with his Falcon Guards by a single freebirth warrior. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." Senefa said it with a bare tinge of respect.

"What brings you to _our_ territory?"

Senefa felt her face turning red, and hated herself for it. She had rushed headlong into her own Twycross, and there was no way out except by pushing ahead. "I wished to see the new addition to your Clan." She said it with as much contempt as possible. "I understand he saved Khan Ulric Kerensky. Such a freebirth must be ten feet tall, _quiaff?_" She made a show of looking around. "Yet I do not see him." Cavell could not repress a smile at the Wolves' growls of outrage. There would be a Trial of Grievance out of this, certainly, not that he had any illusions that Senefa could beat them. She had, after all, handily defeated her foes in the Bloodname Trials, and had never lost in a Circle of Equals—except once.

Cyrilla merely kept smiling. "Ah, so you wish to meet Phelan? Very well, Star Colonel. After the Council is over, you may indulge your curiosity, if he so wills it. You will have to wait out here, of course. We Wolves have private matters to discuss. Will you wait?"

"Aff," Senefa replied tightly. Cyrilla had stepped neatly from Senefa's trap and lured the Jade Falcon into one of her own. She would get to meet Phelan Wolf, but at the price of being forced to wait for him—a Bloodnamed warrior, waiting on a freebirth.

The two Jade Falcons watched the Wolves file in. Neither side said anything further, merely glaring at each other. When the two were alone once more, Cavell said simply, "I shall leave you to your task," and walked away. Senefa nodded once. She did not expect the second highest ranking Jade Falcon to wait. She did not expect herself to wait, but she did, walking a lonely beat, twenty paces back and forth. The great plain before the Clan Halls was empty; it was merely her and the MechWarrior piloting the _Timber Wolf_ who stood guard in front of the Wolf Hall doors. For the first few minutes, the Wolf MechWarrior amused himself by tracking Senefa with his weapons, but he quickly grew tired of the game and patched into the Hall's network to watch the proceedings.

Senefa ignored the huge 'Mech. Clouds had gathered on the horizon, and her arm hurt. The doctors had quickly immobilized it in a preserving sleeve after the Trial on Planting, and Clan medical technology had ensured that it worked perfectly as soon as they reached Strana Mechty. They had warned her that it would still ache occasionally, especially when the weather changed. Still, it had not inhibited her at all in her successful bid for the Bloodname of Adler Malthus—neither the arm nor the fact that she had lost to Sheila Arla-Vlata.

There was no dishonor to losing in a Circle of Equals—at least supposedly so. It was the Way of the Clans. If you lived, the judgement of the Circle was final. Only fools kept challenging and challenging. Senefa had never lost in a Circle, dating back to the days of her sibko when she had killed her own trainer, her Falconer, for an insult to a sibkin. No one in the Clan held that against her; indeed, she had been commended for it. She had broken the legs of one of her sibkin in a Circle and enjoyed her first coupling with him two nights later. A trueborn losing to a freeborn was somewhat dishonorable, but not unknown, but losing to a freeborn from the Inner Sphere was not considered a dishonor. More MechWarriors than the Clans wanted to admit had been forced to eject from their machines, but only the Smoke Jaguars punished those whose only sin was bad luck or facing a better opponent. As the Jade Falcons lifted away from Planting, Cavell Malthus had explained to Senefa that she should not feel ashamed; he knew that the Falcons would lose Planting eventually once the AFFC forces had established secure beachheads, and he had even thanked Senefa for taking on the Trial of Possession and thus saving the Falcons the loss of valuable 'Mechs and MechWarriors. Nor did her Cluster blame her in the slightest; indeed, she had been carried on their backs the moment she had dismounted from her battered _Summoner_ after defeating the last opponent for the Bloodname. They were proud of her, and she of them. The snide jabs from lesser MechWarriors that Senefa had won a tainted Bloodname, as Adler Malthus had foolishly led the Falcon Guards into a mass grave, she ignored. True, much fewer MechWarriors had entered the competition, and she knew the snubbing by many of the Jade Falcons, including Elias Crichell, was over the Bloodname, not her loss on Planting.

All this was true, and yet Senefa still felt ashamed. She had a perfect career to this point, and she had been defeated by a Spheroid mercenary—and worse, Arla-Vlata had made Senefa do something she had not done since she was very little. She had made Senefa cry. The tears had not come from the pain racking her body, but from the shame of losing.

Since then, Senefa had done little in her free time but analyze the fight, noting her own shortcomings and her opponent's. She did not hate Sheila at all, which surprised her, but rather hated herself for going into battle overconfident, and allowing herself to not only fall for Sheila's false exhaustion, but also for giving into her temper and losing control. Senefa kept a tight hold on her emotions, having learned in her sibko's training that emotion was a weakness to be exploited by her opponents. She was so cold and calculating, so flawlessly logical in everything she did, that her techs nicknamed her the Vulcan after some obscure science fiction series. Warriors did not indulge in such flights of fancy, but the Tech caste was known for being bizarre. For her to do something like obsess over the loss was most un-Senefalike, and that was why she had endured the Wolves' insults—to a point—and why she waited.

The doors opened, and a single, huge indivdual strode towards her. Senefa stopped pacing and steeled herself: this was an Elemental. She had done no permanent damage to the other Wolf Elemental, but this could be a challenge. Senefa had no weapons, not even her staff, but that did not matter.

The Elemental came to attention and saluted. "Star Colonel Senefa Malthus?"

Senefa returned the salute. "I am she."

"I am Star Commander Evantha Fetladral. If you would accompany me, House Master Cyrilla Ward wishes to speak with you."

"In there?" Senefa could not help but ask.

"That is what I am ordered," Evantha replied, looking none too happy about it.

"Very well, Star Commander—lead on. I am honored."

"You should be," Evantha snarled under her breath, but loud enough for Senefa to hear. She turned and walked back towards the Hall, leaving Senefa to catch up to the Elemental's long strides.

Senefa restrained her curiosity as they walked through wood-lined walls towards the main council chamber. It was laid out quite similarly to that of the Jade Falcons, though it was older and much more ornate. It was said that Nicholas Kerensky himself had cut the wood that lined the chamber walls; every Clan had a legend of what their founder had done to the various halls, but the Wolf legend had the veracity of truth. Still, it would do no good to look around like some freebirth rubbernecker. Senefa kept her eyes locked solidly on the red ponytail that swung from the Elemental's shaved head. This was most unusual, and Senefa knew it had nothing to do with Cyrilla Ward wanting to apologize for the words of the other Wolves, much less her own. It had to be something else, and as they passed the tail end of the assembled Wolf warriors filing out of the chamber, Senefa sourly knew why: politics.

Senefa hated politics. Most Clan warriors divided themselves as part of one of two factions, either Crusader or Warden. Senefa had no such desire to limit herself. She joined the invasion of the Inner Sphere because that was the direction her Clan was going, and she had her orders. She was glad of the opportunity to test herself against fresh opponents, but had the Jade Falcons not invaded the Inner Sphere, stayed home and fought the Wolves for territory, that would have satisfied her just the same. She supposed that she leaned more towards the Crusaders than the Wardens, who wanted to defend the Inner Sphere against some imaginary alien threat, and it did give her pleasure to add worlds to her Clan's territory. She did not, however, believe as some of her warriors did, that the invasion was any sort of great liberation or a return to the glory of the Star League. The Spherians were rather reluctant to be liberated, it seemed, and the Star League was long dust. Should the Clans take the Inner Sphere, there would be no new First Lord or SLDF, only the Clans, as it should be.

Yet once more, she was being drawn into that great debate. Her mere presence inside the Wolves' Hall was an insult, and the fact that Cyrilla Ward had brought her here made Senefa only a pawn in whatever game she was playing with her opponents.

The chamber was empty, except for three people on the center dais. Senefa's eyes briefly drifted upwards to now dark plasma screens and the cavernous ceiling, where aged banners of the Wolves fluttered; a single screen remained lit, with the lettering 460 AYE, 353 NAY, 187 ABSTAIN. _So,_ she thought, _Phelan must have had his adoption upheld. The saKhan will not be happy, but it is no business of ours._ A sudden, wild vision of herself inviting Sheila Arla-Vlata into the Jade Falcons flitted across her mind's eye, but Senefa brutally squashed it.

"And if that happens?" she heard a male say, his words echoing through the chamber, which had superb acoustics. It startled her, as if someone had read her mind.

"Well, Phelan," answered an older, redheaded woman, "you will be home for Christmas, but don't count on recognizing Arc-Royal or any world between here and there."

Cyrilla had been hidden behind the taller woman in black, but she stood and smiled, not in a friendly fashion, as Senefa stepped out from behind the Elemental. "Ah, Star Colonel Senefa Malthus. I hope you did not wait too long."

"I did not," Senefa merely answered. She wondered what the other two had been discussing. _Not recognizing worlds? Surely the Wolves are not considering atomics! Not even their Crusader faction would go that far…only the idiot Smoke Jaguars would be so dishonorable._

She returned her attention to the matter at hand as Cyrilla motioned to the redheaded woman. "This is Natasha Kerensky, who I am sure you have heard of."

"I have." The two locked eyes for a moment. Senefa was slightly taller than Natasha, but the latter did not let that intimidate her. Senefa thought she looked rather well for a woman who should be pushing eighty and either dead or caring for babies. Neither woman made an offer to shake hands.

"And this is Phelan Wolf."

Senefa regarded the young man. He was about her age, rather handsome with tousled black hair. She quickly took in his build and plain uniform, and decided that, while he would not turn the stomach to couple with, he was rather unremarkable. Still, this man had information she needed, so it would behoove Senefa to be polite. "Phelan Wolf," she said, with a slight incline of her head, "congratulations on being welcomed into the Wolf Clan. That is not an honor easily given."

All three Wolves looked somewhat surprised at Senefa's words. "Thank you, Star Colonel," Phelan replied. He glanced to Cyrilla, obviously confused by Senefa's presence. _Too easy to read,_ Senefa thought. _He will need to learn if he is to survive here._

"Star Colonel Malthus wished to see you, Phelan," Cyrilla patiently explained. "Enough to wait outside until our business was concluded—and even start a fight with one of our Elementals."

"The Elemental insulted me," Senefa said. "It had nothing to do with this meeting."

"I see," Phelan said, though it looked as if he didn't. "Well, what can I do for you, Star Colonel?"

"He's not a slab of beef or some circus animal to be gawked at," Natasha snapped, when Senefa hesitated.

"Certainly not, Natasha," Senefa answered, deliberately using the older woman's first name, despite the fact that Natasha was Bloodnamed. She held no rank in the Wolf Clan, which meant in theory that Senefa did not need to even acknowledge her presence. "I merely wanted to ask him a few questions about the Lyran Commonwealth—his birthplace."

"What for?" Natasha asked, fuming.

"I am interested."

"Interested in a particular warrior, _quiaff?_" Cyrilla put in.

"You are very well informed, House Master. Aff, a particular warrior." She looked back at Phelan. "You attended the Nagelring, _quiaff_?"

"Yes—aff," Phelan replied, instantly correcting himself. By the hesitation, the red in his face, and his body language, Senefa knew she had touched on a sensitive subject.

"I am not interested in what happened there, only someone who attended it as well, possibly at the same time you did. Her name is Sheila Arla-Vlata. Did you know her?"

"Somewhat. With all due respect, Star Colonel, why?"

It was Natasha's turn to smirk. "Because Sheila Arla-Vlata pounded her into the mud on Planting in a Circle of Equals. People from the Inner Sphere learn fast, don't they, 'Ril?" Cyrilla said nothing, but there was still that maddening smile. Senefa fought down the urge to simply snap Cyrilla Ward's neck or challenge her to a Circle herself—her or Natasha Kerensky.

Instead, she kept her face placid and shrugged, as if she had merely lost a game of rock-paper-scissors. "It is as they say, Phelan Wolf. I was defeated in a Circle of Equals."

"And now you want revenge?" Phelan asked.

"We will assuredly meet again, Sheila Arla-Vlata and I, and I wish to not make the mistake of underestimating my enemy a second time." Senefa avoided the question, both to the Wolves and to herself, but deep down, she knew her answer to Phelan's question was a most unClan and unSenefalike, _Yes, I want revenge!_ "If you choose not to answer, I understand. You owe me nothing."

Phelan paused for a moment. "No, I'll—I will tell you, Star Colonel, though I do not know much. We moved in different circles. She is a mercenary—which you probably know."

"Aff. The daughter of Calla and Arla Bighorn-Vlata, of the Sentinels. She also said she was from the Lyran Commonwealth, like yourself. I am interested if you know any of her hobbies, or tactics, or anything of particular interest."

It was Phelan's turn to shrug. "She took first in the Nagelring martial arts weapon competition in her junior year, with a staff, as I recall."

Senefa smiled ruefully. "I had noticed that. Continue."

"She was on the gymnastics team for awhile. I do not know about her grades, though I do know that she was not much of a drinker or a party person." Seeing the confusion on Senefa's face, Phelan explained, "A lot of the Nagelring students liked to drink a lot and have parties. In our—the Inner Sphere's society, Star Colonel, this is accepted, if not condoned."

_Which is one reason why their MechWarriors seem inferior to ours—poor training._ Senefa filed the statement away mentally for future use. "Did you attend those parties, Phelan?"

"A few times. Mercenaries are not well-liked at the Nagelring, Star Colonel. We're commoners, compared to the nobility."

"I was under the impression that your former name, Kell, is one _quite_ respected, _quineg?_"

"It is, but that's more from my family's ties to the Steiner family."

"Ah." That was interesting, but it had nothing to do with the subject at hand. "A gymnast, _quiaff_? That makes sense. Did you ever face her in simulation?"

"Once or twice. I think we split honors. She prefers to fight in heavy 'Mechs; I tend to fight in light 'Mechs. As I recall, she likes to get in close, but most Inner Sphere MechWarriors do."

"What is she like, personality wise?"

"I am not entirely sure, Star Colonel. As I said, I did not know her well." Phelan thought a moment. "Distant, maybe. A little aloof. I knew her roommate, Mimi Stykkis, a little better, but the two were completely different people."

"I see—this Mimi was a party person, then?"

"Oh yeah." Phelan smiled with an obviously fond memory, but the smile soon faded. "I'm sorry, Star Colonel, that is about all I have."

Now Senefa smiled, and it was hungrily. "There is more, Phelan Wolf." She could tell by the way he carried himself. Phelan's face had gotten redder and his head had dipped defensively, so it had to be something personal.

"I'd rather not talk about it, Star Colonel."

"I do not mean to cause distress, Phelan, but I will if I must—"

"He said he didn't want to talk about it," Natasha snarled. "Now you back off, little bird, before I clip your wings!"

Senefa turned to Natasha. "Are you challenging me, Natasha Kerensky? Very well; I am willing to fight you, even if you are unranked and given your advanced age." Inwardly, Senefa took great pleasure in watching the older woman turn purple with rage. "However, I would be remiss in my manners and my duty to the Clans in general that if Phelan Wolf is withholding vital information on an avowed enemy of the Clans, that could come up in the Grand Council." As a Bloodnamed warrior with an enviable record, Senefa now held a vote in the Grand Council, and could make considerable trouble there. Senefa may have hated politics, but she knew how to use it as a weapon. She knew it, and from the sigh of Cyrilla Ward, so did the elder Wolf.

"Answer the question, Phelan," Cyrilla said.

"I need not know the details," Senefa assured him. She took no pleasure in his discomfort; dishonor was not something she wished on any warrior, save one.

Phelan took a deep breath. "As you may know, Star Colonel, I was expelled from the Nagelring. As part of that, I had to go in front of a Cadet Review Board over my actions. Sheila Arla-Vlata was one of the ones who voted I be expelled."

"And you bear a grudge, _quiaff?_"

"And you don't?" Phelan countered.

Senefa had no answer for that. She gave a small bow to Phelan. "I thank you for the information, Phelan Wolf. In return I offer this: you are too easy to read. Here that can be a fatal weakness. Bargained well and done…I wish you luck and skill in your quest to become a warrior." She spun on one foot and saluted Cyrilla Ward. "House Master, I thank you for the opportunity. Natasha Kerensky, if you wish to face me in a Circle of Equals, merely name the time and place. Good day." Turning her back on them, Senefa strode from the chamber, for the first time in weeks, completely at peace with herself.


	7. Simtime

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally meant for this chapter to be longer, but it started getting way too long, so I divided up into two chapters. This chapter takes place during Chapter 9 of _Blood Legacy. _Most of the dialogue is the same, with a few things changed (of course) for the presence of Sheila and the others. _

_This chapter (and the next) might seem like a hit job on Kai Allard-Liao. I won't entirely deny that. IMHO, Kai was Michael Stackpole's Mary Sue character (or munchkin, if you like). He's too perfect. He's the best MechWarrior in the Inner Sphere, but he's insufferably modest. He downs five of the best MechWarriors in the Inner Sphere—yes, he does it in a _Daishi_, but the _Daishi _is also a rather slow 'Mech. Outside of his 'Mech, he manages to evade capture by the Clans, learns how to pilot Elemental armor, and damn near frees Alyina by himself. Everyone marvels at his skill and tells him how great he is. Even Stackpole seemed to realize it by the end of _Lost Destiny, _because the Elementals can't believe everything Kai has done and comment on it; Kai is a lot more human and a better character in his later appearances on Solaris VII. He's a hero, of course, and should be better than everyone, but he's just a little too good at it. Aidan Pryde was a hero too, and had his munch moments, but he could also be an arrogant asshole when he wanted to be and pretty much went through hell to get what little he had. _

_Anyway, that's just my own opinion; one could argue that Sheila is a bit of a Mary Sue herself. But also IMHO, Kai's tactics in Chapter 9 would get him killed in a Battletech game with real players, so I alluded to this here. However, I hope that I still kept Kai in character, munchy or not. The critique only makes things worse for him, not better. (The critique is based on my own opinion of the battle, based on 20 years of playing Battletech, so take it as you will.) BTW, Marion's comment about _Centurion _variants is based on what it says in the 3025 TRO, that there are so many variants that MechWarriors should never assume they're fighting a stock variant._

_This chapter contains some pretty foul language (again). _Shaun of the Dead _fans may recognize one of Marion Rhialla's quips! And now I'll shut up..._

* * *

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters, Harlech_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_15 February 3051_

"Oh my _God._" Marion Rhialla covered her eyes with her hands and slumped before the monitor.

Sheila sighed. After two weeks of punishing physical training, the young royals—everyone had started calling them that now—had gone on to actual BattleMech training. If they had hoped for a break from the acid tongue of Marion Rhialla, they had hoped in vain. She still harangued them out of bed in the morning, marched them to the simulator at the double-quick if she felt the need (and she usually did). Once in the simulators, they had to endure her screaming in their earphones if they did something wrong. That, at least, was not quite as often as it had been during the physical phase, as all but Sun-Tzu Liao, Cassandra Allard-Liao, and Ragnar Magnusson were combat veterans. Shin Yodama and Galen Cox were more veteran than most, and Rhialla had upgraded their status, referring to them respectfully by their rank, rather than the sneering Mister she addressed the other men as. Unfortunately for the three "newbies," that meant Rhialla's ire was focused more on them—and most of all, on Sun-Tzu. With him, she was relentless, and his attempts to escape by confining his speech to Chinese failed miserably when Rhialla replied fluently in the same language, in a tone as from a lord to a peasant.

But that, hopefully, was in the past. Today was the first day that the royals would fight more than individually, but in teams. Mackenzie Wolf had made the selections, dividing the group into Team Alpha—which consisted of Victor Steiner-Davion, Hohiro Kurita, Galen Cox, and Shin Yodama—against Team Bravo: Kai and Cassandra Allard-Liao, Ragnar, and Sun-Tzu. Sheila thought that MacKenzie was stacking the deck against Team Bravo, but then Wolf had told Kai he could pick his own ground; Sheila instantly recognized more than a faint echo of a Clan Trial of Possession.

Kai had picked his ground well: a twisting series of canyons deeper and narrower than Twycross' Great Gash, where an ambush was virtually guaranteed. Victor had rightly put himself in the lead of his lance, as his _Victor_ was more heavily armored than Kurita's _Grand Dragon_, Cox's _Crusader,_ or Yodama's _Phoenix Hawk;_ if he did trip an ambush, he was more likely to survive it, and could jump out of trouble. Watching from the control room, where the simulation was projected on three large screens giving an overview of the battle and one from each lance's perspective, Rhialla had nodded, impressed. Then Victor had made a significant error: he marched his lance, single-file, into the canyons.

And now he was about to pay for it. As they watched, Kai's _Centurion_ stepped from cover and the 'Mech cannon arm came down to point squarely at the _Victor_. Victor did nothing in reply, only raised his own weapon arm, intending to go toe-to-toe with a 'Mech it outweighed by thirty tons. "You dumb shit," Rhialla growled, but Victor could not hear her: the referees were not allowed to interfere. Sure enough, the _Centurion_'s opening salvo sent the assault 'Mech toppling to the ground.

"Holy cow," Max breathed. "I didn't think Kai was in his dad's 'Mech in this scenario!"

"The MechWarriors were allowed to pick which 'Mech suited them best, within a certain battle value limit," Wolf explained. "Kai picked Yen-lo-Wang."

"Which has an AC/20 instead of an AC/10," Sheila finished. Victor sent Kai back under cover with hasty laser shots, then fell back on his own lance. Kai didn't follow, and unseen by Team Alpha, moved to another location to wait. "Ol' Kai's a crazy sniper."

"Hmpf," Rhialla grumped. "And Victor's a bloody idiot. Anytime you go up against a _Centurion_, you have to think it might not be stock. That might've been a Steiner laser-farm variant for all he knew. If that was Carabinera in there, she'd be jumping up and down on his head by now." Rhialla referred to her friend, Geena Carabinera, the Sentinels' urban fighting specialist and _Centurion_ expert.

"They're arguing again." Christian Kell had one hand on an earphone. "Victor and Hohiro, over who should command the lance." He shook his head sadly. "Galen's getting it sorted out."

"Galen would make a better sergeant than officer—oh sweet Mother Gaia, Kai's setting them up; he's spotting indirect fire, and the stupid bastards don't even realize it." Rhialla banged her fist on the console. Sheila and Max watched as the computer painted a murderous fusillade of LRMs arcing over the canyon, fired from Cassandra's _Catapult _and Ragnar's _Orion—_fully a hundred missiles, launched in two waves. They struck before Victor's lance could sort themselves out. Cox took the worst damage, going down under the first strike and then taking the brunt of the second. The _Crusader_ exploded when its ammunition was hit; had it been a real battle, Galen Cox likely would have died with his 'Mech.

"Can't wait until we get that new CASE stuff," Max commented. Sheila remembered that Max's _Battlemaster_ carried a rack of SRMs; at least her _Shruiken_ was armed solely with lasers. "That wouldn't happen then."

"Still wouldn't be pleasant," Rhialla answered, and smiled briefly as Victor led his now three-strong command into a side canyon. "Now that's using your head, Mister Steiner-Davion. Get out from under the storm as soon as you can, and—what the _hell?"_

The side canyon bottomed out into a wide plain, which would give Victor and his force better room to avoid the flights of LRMs. Kai, thinking one step ahead, had already deployed Sun-Tzu and his _Cataphract_ there to head off such a move, and was moving the _Centurion_ up to support. Should Victor continue straight onto the plain, he would be defiladed from both sides at the canyon mouth. Sun-Tzu, however, had blown the ambush, stepping his 'Mech out to fight before Kai was able to help. Were it just Victor, whose 'Mech had lost its primary armament, another AC/20, to Kai's first volley, this would be foolish but understandable: the _Cataphract_'s armament of light autocannon and PPC would be more than a match. However, Victor had a _Grand Dragon_ and a _Phoenix Hawk_ right behind him, making the move suicidal. "You stupid fucking bastard! God Almighty, did Romano squeeze her thighs too tight when she shoved him out?" Rhialla shrilled, making the technicians wince.

Sun-Tzu's opening shots did significant damage to the _Victor_, but Victor's return fire staggered the _Cataphract_ as well. He then moved in, raising the now-useless AC/20 to bludgeon Sun-Tzu to the death. Kai arrived just in time to save his cousin from grisly computer-generated death, blowing off one of the _Victor_'s legs, then turned his attention to savage the _Phoenix Hawk_, even as Cassandra and Ragnar blasted the other two 'Mechs with missile fire.

In less than three minutes, the battle was blessedly over. Sun-Tzu's _Cataphract_ was badly shot up, but Victor's lance was nearly destroyed, with both the _Victor_ and _Grand Dragon_ on the ground and missing limbs, while the _Phoenix Hawk_ and _Crusader_ were gone.

Sheila was fairly certain she could see steam coming from Rhialla's ears as she stormed from the control room, and Sheila raced ahead of her, putting out a hand. "Marion, take it easy—"

"Take it easy!" Rhialla roared. "I'm going to go kick Victor's ass up between his shoulders! Marching into an ambush like that!"

"I agree, Marion, but—"

"But nothing! If that had been real, we'd have three MechWarriors going home in boxes and an open flank with the better part of a goddamn fire lance sitting on it!"  
"Marion!" Sheila snapped. "I'm refereeing this op. Not you!"

Rhialla looked at her angrily for a moment, then relented. "Yes, of course, Commander." She sighed. "And I had such a good cussing stored up."

"Well, you and Max back me up."

The three of them walked down two flights of stairs to the lounge behind the simulator pod chamber. The voices drifted up through the stairwell as they approached, and Sheila recognized Galen's voice: "…your 'Mech, as well as the _Catapult_ Ragnar piloted and Zandra's _Orion_, are well-suited to long-range combat, while Yen-lo-Wang is built for infighting."

"Kai ordered all of us to stay back so he could steal the glory of the kills himself." That was Sun-Tzu, sounding angry as usual.

"No, Sun-Tzu. Kai placed himself in extreme jeopardy to act as bait for a very well-sprung trap. I should have known better than to lead my lance straight into it."

"You sure as hell should've," Sheila said, glad for the opening. She walked into the lounge. "Victor, you used to pound me in simtime at the Nagelring and you helped plan Twycross. What the hell happened out there today?"

Victor shrugged sheepishly. "I screwed up."

"You screwed up." Rhialla saw her opening and took it. "You screwed up! And got your lance fucking killed to a man!"

Victor came to attention and nodded. "Yes, Lance Commander Rhialla. I'm sorry."

"Sorry don't cut the quillar when it comes time to write letters, does it? 'Dear Mama and Papa Cox. Your son is dead because I was stupid. I walked into an obvious ambush. Sorry 'bout that. Enclosed is two fingers and your son's dick, because that's all we could find.'"

"Marion, you made your point." Sheila put just enough of an order in her voice that the older woman obeyed. Either she didn't know or didn't care that Galen had lost his parents in the War of 3039, but Sheila did. "But she's right, Victor. And you let your lance get strung out. Galen could back you up, but Hohiro and Shin were at extreme range." Now Victor looked very sheepish.

"With respect, Commander Arla-Vlata, I do not think even if I had been at close range it would have helped." Shin bowed towards Kai. "Kai moves with Yen-lo-Wang as though the 'Mech were part of him. I knew, from seeing the _Victor_ tumble, that the _Centurion_ had to be lurking off to the right side of the canyon. Even knowing that, however, I could not follow his movement well enough with my weapons to be able to target him." Shin grinned at Kai. "I am very glad I only have to face you in simulator battles."

Kai actually blushed and looked down. "Thanks for the kind words, guys, but don't forget, this was a unit exercise. My lance beat you, not me. If Zandra, Ragnar, and Sun-Tzu hadn't softened you up…"

"Or put us down," Galen laughed.

"…I'd have been squashed like a bug." Kai looked up. "All of you are just good. It was just luck."

"You made your own luck," Sheila said. "You set up a perfect ambush, then moved to a new position before Team Alpha could fix the first. Then you called in indirect LRM fire, which I don't know of too many MechWarriors doing unless specifically ordered." No one liked to be a missile spotter in a 'Mech, as it meant holding still while the telemetry was downlinked. No MechWarrior in their right mind stayed put on a battlefield longer than five seconds by choice; speed and movement were life. "Finally, you had an even better ambush set in the side canyon. While you and Sun-Tzu hit Team Alpha from either side, Cassandra and Ragnar would've kept sending in missile flights. It would look like the Little Bighorn in there." Sheila looked pointedly at Sun-Tzu. "In fact, that was the only part where things went wrong for Team Bravo was when Sun-Tzu broke cover. What were you thinking, Sun-Tzu?" Sheila said it gently: as MacKenzie Wolf had explained to her, the instructor had to keep from personalizing the combat too much, though with Sun-Tzu it was a lost cause.

"I do not need to explain my actions to you!" Sun-Tzu snapped.

Rhialla opened her mouth, but it was Sheila who shouted first. "What the _fuck _did you just say? The _hell_ you don't, you little bastard!" The sudden venom took everyone by shock. Sheila was known for a vulcanized tongue as well, but she had never cut loose on any of them.

Sun-Tzu looked as surprised as the others. He was silent for a moment, then said, "I wanted to destroy the _Victor_ while it was an easy kill."

Max spoke up for the first time, mainly because Sheila looked like she was ready to demolish Sun-Tzu. "Sun-Tzu, with respect, didn't you notice the other two 'Mechs coming up behind Victor?" When Sun-Tzu hesitated, Sheila snapped, "Answer the question."

"No," Sun-Tzu shot back defiantly. "I did not. I assumed Kai was coming up behind them."

Rhialla turned red. "You mean it hasn't sunk in yet? You _never_ assume, Mister Liao! When you assume, you make an ass out of 'u' and 'me.' Now I like a good ass, but not like that."

"I see what this is. You're ganging up on me." Sun-Tzu turned on one heel and went for the door with a derisive snort.

"You haven't been dismissed yet," Sheila warned.

Sun-Tzu reached for the doorknob, stopped, and looked back, weighing disobeying an order against losing more of his pride. He hesitated a long second, then turned back around. "Very well, _Lieutenant Commander_ Arla-Vlata, now that you have been promoted over us, how would you have handled it?"

Sheila walked briskly to a whiteboard and quickly sketched out the canyon. With a black marker, she put in Team Bravo's positions. "Here's Kai." With a red marker, she drew in an arrow. "Here's Victor. Now if I were him, I would've put Shin up on top of this canyon, slightly ahead of the rest of the lance."

"That would trap him, leave him without support in case he spotted the ambush," Sun-Tzu argued.

"He's got 180 meters of jump-jet range. If he runs into trouble, he can get out of there. It's better than being fried in the first attack. If he runs into trouble up there, Victor could jump his 'Mech up to support him, or Shin could jump down. If that doesn't trip the ambush, they could repeat the cycle until either the canyon is cleared or they do detect Kai, or you."

She tapped the marker at Kai's position. "Victor's right. Kai put himself in a risky position here. If Victor had been able to jump behind him, or Shin to drop down behind him, he's trapped. The _Centurion_ doesn't have jump-jets. He either has to run backwards and hope to work his way back to you, Sun-Tzu—assuming Shin isn't cutting through his rear armor the whole way—move forward and get dogpiled by Team Alpha as a whole, or stay in position and call fire in on himself, and hope the LRMs do enough damage to break him loose. Anyway, it was a dangerous—and gutsy—move on Kai's part."

Sun-Tzu rolled his eyes. "Oh, of _course_ it was. Would you have done the same thing, Arla-Vlata?"

"No."

That caught Sun-Tzu by surprise. "You wouldn't have?" For once the question was free of scorn.

"No. In those canyons, it would be too easy to get flanked or vertically enveloped. If Victor had been thinking instead of reacting, he would've grabbed Kai by the belt—closed in with his _Victor_ using his jumpjets, with Shin to back him up. Or withdrawn and send in Hohiro's _Grand Dragon_ to flush him out, because his armor's thick enough to take a few AC/20 shots. Kai put himself out there alone, beyond all but indirect LRM support. There's only so many times you can pull the last stand in the canyon bit, Kai." Sheila instantly regretted the words the moment she said them, because Kai visibly crumpled under her words.

"That's true," Sun-Tzu smiled, which was never a good sign. "Next time it might cost him more than a platoon of infantry. Am I dismissed, Commander? I need to use the restroom."

"Dismissed," Sheila snarled, and Sun-Tzu left with a barely audible chuckle.

"That little bastard." Marion threw the door a look that would melt the hull of a JumpShip. "I should go give him something to piss on himself about."

"No," Kai said. "Sheila's right. It was dumb. We were just really lucky."

Victor, with a sidelong glance at Sheila, wasn't taking that lying down. "Give it up, Kai. It's not like that. Just admit that you're damned good, will you?" He and Hohiro exchanged looks, and Hohiro nodded slowly. "You smoked us, period. End of sentence."

Kai shook his head. "No, no. I'm not that good. I've never been that good. In simulator battles at home on Kestrel or St. Ives, I regularly get my head handed to me."

Cassandra laughed. "At home, the only person he can beat is me, and he doesn't think that sufficient for bragging." She punched her brother lightly in the ribs, eliciting a small smile from Kai, but one that didn't live long. "Well, that's not surprising," Max said. "Let me guess. You're going up against your father and mother, then? A Grand Champion of Solaris and a former Martial Games champion of House Liao? No wonder. None of us would do well against them."

Victor threw an arm around Kai. "If I may be so bold as to speak for the rest of the Inner Sphere, welcome to the world outside the Allard house league. We're sure glad to have you on our side."

Sheila was fuming. MacKenzie Wolf had put her in command of the exercise, and now Victor had essentially undercut that command. She intended her lesson to point out the flaws in everyone's performance, but Sun-Tzu had manuevered it into an indictment of Kai's tactics, and Sheila had helped—and now Victor was telling Kai he had not made a mistake at all, when in real life Sheila was sure that Kai would've been surrounded by faster, bolder Clanfolk and killed. Even Max was agreeing! _That's it,_ she told herself angrily, _these people will never listen to me. Never. What am I even doing here?_ "Excuse me," she said, and opened the door.

Max realized something was wrong. "Sheila—"

"Not now, Max. Leave me alone." Then she was gone, leaving Max grasping at empty air and silence in her wake.

Marion broke it quickly. "Well, how nice." She stuck out an ironic hand to Kai. "'Welcome to the world outside the Allard house league,' indeed, Mister Allard-Liao. Welcome to _my_ world, where _I_ rule! And as Queen Shit on Turd Mountain, I order your immortal ass back into the simulator! The rest of you, too. We've seen how you do against each other, but now let's see how you'd do against the Clans! Better get that pen ready to write more letters, Mister Steiner-Davion!" They went, mumbling, and Marion half-dragged Max out the door. "I'm going to go find Sun-Tzu so I can at least kill him in simtime. I need you to go find Maysa Bari. We're going to throw those bastards from Tel Akbir against the kiddies, and I'm sticking Maysa in that _Rifleman IIC_ mod that the Dragoons showed us. That should take the wind out of Captain Wow's sails."

"But Sheila—"

"Needs to be alone right now, Max." _Someday you'll figure out women, Max,_ Marion sighed inwardly, feeling very old. _But not today._


	8. Lessons in Leadership

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it took a little longer to update this time around. Been busy with real life stuff, dammit. I need to find a way to get paid for this. _

_This chapter is pretty important to the story. Military leadership is one of the most difficult lessons to learn, because there are few jobs where the stakes are so high and the effect of mistakes are so magnified. History has often turned on the ability of one side or the other to command effectively, especially under adverse conditions—without going off on a tangent, American history has these points, such as Washington at Trenton, Grant at Vicksburg, Roosevelt at San Juan Hill, Patton in the Ardennes, MacArthur at Inchon, just to name a few. Wolf's quotations on leadership are derived from my love for war movies—_Gettysburg _and_ Fort Apache—_but they're based on real quotations. I don't fancy myself anything more than a writer, so hopefully I'm on the right track._

_The four Gauss Rifle 'Mech is actually possible with Clantech. I use it every now and then when my opponents start busting out _Nova Cats _and _Fafnirs _too often._

Sheila found a quiet spot—a grassy hill overlooking the training complex—and sat down, burying her face in her knees. It was cold, but she barely felt it. All she wanted was to board the next DropShip off of Outreach to hide her shame. She knew she had behaved badly in the lounge, and worst, she had literally and figuratively slammed a door in her husband's face. Coming on top of the revelation that she would be unable to bear children, Sheila felt a black wind of depression coming down on her life.

The fastest known form of communication known to man was regimental gossip. Few of the Snowbirds were still on Outreach—besides herself, Max and Marion, there was just Tooriu, Elfa Brownoak, and Maysa Bari. But it had been less than a day before the other girls had burst into Sheila and Max's room and whisked Sheila away to a "girls' night out," in which they had unsuccessfully tried to cheer her up. It hadn't worked. Marion and Elfa had just succeeded in getting tipsy, and Maysa, for whom subterfuge was completely impossible and too young to be served alcohol on Outreach, had just looked pitiful all night. Marion's ill-advised attempt at telling Sheila that she was now a "sports model" who could save a great deal of C-bills on contraception had only resulted in Elfa taking a swing at Marion. The situation had been more or less defused by Maysa bursting into tears. Sheila had hoped to at least get back into being a MechWarrior again, finding solace in something she was good at, and away from the nagging feeling she was not quite a woman—and now even that she seemed to be failing at.

"Sheila?"

Sheila turned around and began to get to her feet. "Colonel Wolf. I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, sit down." He motioned her back to the grass, and took a seat next to her, setting a folder of printouts on the ground. "My son called me. He said there was a bit of trouble in the simtank."

"It was nothing," Sheila lied.

Wolf chuckled. "If it was nothing, why are you sitting out here with your head in your knees?"

"Because I'm a damn fool," Sheila sighed.

"Oh? How so?"

"Because I let my emotions swamp my better judgement." She told Wolf what had happened. He listened patiently, absently tugging at his graying beard in thought. "Victor undercut me, and maybe he was right in doing so. Kai really is good—hell, he's great. And Sun-Tzu did take a cheap shot that Kai can't handle. I should've said something, or stomped on Sun-Tzu, but instead I ended up standing there like an idiot. Then even _Max_ comes to Kai's defense, and the only thing I can do is run out of the room and cry like a spanked child." She slammed a fist against the ground. "The hell of it is, Colonel, I'm _right!_ Kai did a brave thing, but if he keeps doing that, he's going to get killed. He's trying to live up to his father's name, and it's dumb. On his own, he's already excellent, one of the best I've ever seen—not that I'm all that experienced, but still! Cassandra doesn't seem to have that problem." She sighed again. "And if I know Marion Rhialla, she's in there massacring them, because she has to defend me and teach them a lesson. The problem is, it's going to make things worse. The others will see it for what it is, which will make Kai feel worse, make Sun-Tzu even more pissed off at the world, and probably insult Hohiro's honor as well. Next thing you know, I've got a damn mutiny on my hands." She couldn't meet Wolf's eyes. "You made a mistake, Colonel. I was the wrong choice to command here. I should just leave and go back where I belong."

"You should probably patch things up with your husband first."

"Max…" Sheila rested her chin on her knees. "What an idiot I am."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. You two are young, Sheila. You're not even really in love yet." He smiled at her sharp look. "Not true love, Sheila. That comes after the hard times—when the bills start piling up and the money isn't, when things start going really to hell. I've been there, Sheila. So has your father and mother, and Max's. And Max still loves you, so that's one area you don't have to worry about.

"As for commanding here on Outreach, you're not going anywhere."

"Am I a prisoner?" Sheila snapped.

"Yes," Wolf replied harshly. "Of yourself. Because if you left, Sheila, you'd regret it by the time you reached escape velocity. An old wolf like me knows pride when I see it."

"Pride or hubris?"

"Pride. You won't be defeated easily, Sheila. That's why I picked you to come here. There's thousands of other battalion commanders in the Inner Sphere, some better and many worse than you, but I didn't pick them. Why not?" Wolf didn't let her answer. "Because most of the battalion commanders who have met the Clans folded after their first defeat. I'm not saying they're cowards; the Clans are by far the toughest opponents any of them have run across. And some have looked for ways to win—but they are damned few. You, on the other hand, have faced defeat on every campaign you've been on, and you've managed to rally every time. Like I said, on Blackjack you learned how to lose. At Pascia Grove, you rallied a fleeing mob and turned back a Jade Falcon Cluster, and when you faced that Jade Falcon Star Colonel in a Circle of Equals, you still found a way to win.

"Right now, Sheila, just surviving the Clans is a victory in itself, but sooner or later the Inner Sphere will need to learn how to beat them. Those kids in there—Victor is eager and enthusiastic. Hohiro is grim but determined. Cassandra and Ragnar are inexperienced but willing. We can work with that, but eagerness, determination, and willingness are just a beginning point."

"What about Sun-Tzu and Kai?"

"It's easy to write off Sun-Tzu," Wolf admitted. "Sometimes I would like to take him and his entire crazy family and throw them off Outreach. Romano's insanity will never allow her to see the truth. The Clans will be coming over the palace walls at Sian and she'll be screaming that it's really Hanse Davion. Tsen Shang is cowed by her and Kali's been warped to the point of unreachability. So it's all coming down on Sun-Tzu's shoulders, and the fact is that he's terrified that he's not good enough, that the moment Romano is dead Hanse and Candace will finish what they started 20 years ago, and he'll go down in history as the last Capellan Chancellor and the man who lost it all. So he covers his fear by acting tough and hating everyone."

"And Kai?"

"Kai's remarkably similar to his cousin, but just the opposite. Sun-Tzu is a poor MechWarrior, knows it, and makes up for it with bluster, the way a bull snake will act like a rattler to frighten enemies away. Kai on the other hand is a very good MechWarrior and fears it—plus, as you mentioned, he's constantly comparing himself to his father. He's afraid that he will never measure up and disgrace his family. When something goes wrong, Kai catastrophizes it."

"Like what happened on Twycross?" Sheila shook her head. "Yes, that platoon he sent into the Great Gash got killed, but Colonel, this is war. People get hurt out here. If I had a choice between losing a planet and losing a platoon, I'm sorry, but that platoon is less important."

Wolf speared her with his eyes. "You'd order 32 men to their deaths? Do you know what you're asking?"

Sheila did not back away, feeling the pain of what had come so close to happening at Fort Pilum welling up in her eyes. "Yes, Colonel, I would and I know _exactly_ what I'm asking. Outside of Fort Pilum, I had to choose between guiding my battalion's reinforcements to a new dropzone and my own husband. You know the choice I made, and thank God I didn't have to pay for it with his life. If I choose between 32 men and 32 thousand or 32 million, there is no choice!"

Wolf put up his hands defensively. "Sorry, Sheila. I had to ask that question—and I'm glad of your answer, because that only confirms my suspicions of you."

"Suspicions?"

"Sheila, a wiser general than I once made an important observation: to be a soldier you must love the army, but to be a commander you must be willing to destroy that which you love, because sometimes it's the only way to win a battle or a war. That's not saying you throw away lives meaninglessly, but it also means that you cannot hold back. You must be willing to put it all on the line. And to be a _good_ commander you must never ask your warriors to do something you're not willing to do yourself. Kai has learned the latter lesson—a little too well, mind—but he has yet to learn the former. You, on the other hand, have managed to learn both very quickly. _That_ is why you are here."

Sheila thought about that for a long moment. "Colonel," she said finally, "but they don't respect me. Victor didn't listen to me; not even Max did."

"Then you have to make them listen, Sheila. When you are in command, _command._" He pointed to the rank diamond on her jacket's shoulderboards. "Marion Rhialla isn't intimidated by the royal titles, because she's right—those kids came by those titles because of their parentage, though I wouldn't put it as crudely as she would. If one of your MechWarriors lipped off to you in the Snowbirds, would you take it? I think not! You'd step down hard, and you'd be right to. From what MacKenzie said, you didn't have any problem cussing out Sun-Tzu."

"He makes it too easy." Sheila paused. "Then the commander is never wrong, no matter how wrong they are?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Wolf corrected her. "You have subordinates; don't be afraid to use them or listen to them. But always remember that you are the one who is in command. Not Victor Steiner-Davion or Hohiro Kurita. It means you are responsible for what happens, but it also means _you_ are the final arbiter of what _does_ happen."

"Okay," Sheila said, accepting the argument. "How do I rein in Victor?"

"You probably won't have to. Victor's headstrong but not stupid. If he hasn't already, he probably will realize what he did and apologize."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then I leave that up to you." Wolf stood and Sheila quickly followed. "I can't give away _all_ my gems of knowledge, can I? Then you'd learn nothing, or worse, you'd take over." He brushed the grass from his pants. "Just remember they all have potential, Sheila—even Sun-Tzu. We need winners. We have survivors and losers aplenty." He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "Now. The training schedule will be done soon for today, so go make things right with Max and start fresh tomorrow. Dismissed, Commander." He deliberately left the Lieutenant off.

Sheila bent down and picked up the folder. "You left this, Colonel."

"Oh, that. Yes, that's for you. In it you'll find some very interesting things about the Clans."

Sheila flipped through it briefly and looked up at Wolf, astounded. "Sir, this…"

"That is most of what I can pass on, Sheila. I'm not doing it for fun. I'm doing it because you have got to learn to think like the Clans so you can beat them. I will be distributing similar volumes to the others, but not for awhile. Let them learn too."

Sheila understood. Wolf was giving her the most precious gift imaginable, the sum total of nearly fifty years of battle experience. "Yes, sir. I will, sir. Thank you."

"There's one other thing."

"Sir?"

Wolf looked thoughtful. "Sheila, that Clan warrior—you humiliated her, from what the reports tell me. Among the Clans, honor is just about everything, even more than the Kuritans, though they don't quite practice ritual suicide. They do practice revenge, though. She will be coming after you, and you had better be ready. You're right in saying Kai can only make so many last stands before it truly becomes one, but you can only rally from so many defeats as well. Make sure you get her in the next battle, because make no mistake, she will make sure she gets you if you don't." And with that cheery thought, Wolf left her.

* * *

Sheila walked slowly back to the training complex, cradling the folder like a baby. She realized the analogy was apt enough. Then she wondered if perhaps, one day, she might be called on to pass her knowledge on as much as Wolf had. _Maybe that will be my legacy,_ she thought, _instead of a child._ She wasn't sure why, but it cheered her up some.

The others were coming out of the simulation room when she reached the lounge, looking shaken—worse than before, and enough to not even notice her at first. "Sweet Mother of God," Galen Cox breathed, "what the hell _was _that thing? _Four_ Gauss Rifles!" He sat down heavily on a couch. "I sure am getting tired of being killed."

"That was bad enough," Victor added, "but what about that freaking _Rifleman_? Shin was jumping around like a cat on a hot plate, and it still fried him. And Kai…"

Kai looked more despondent than all of them. "Let's not mention what it did to me."

Of course, that didn't stop Sun-Tzu. "Yes, having both arms and one leg shot off is rather embarassing."

Cassandra immediately came to her brother's aid. "Like being torn apart by Gauss Rifles isn't? Your _Cataphract_ didn't last any longer than Kai's _Centurion!_" She was actually feeling somewhat upbeat—she and Ragnar had been the only survivors of the battle, mainly because they had found cover and stayed there.

"At least I didn't run away!" Sun-Tzu shouted. "I was trying to get within the Gausses' minimal range—as big as that 'Mech was, it certainly wouldn't have been armored as well or very fast! I could've outmanuevered it."

"In your dreams, maybe!" Cassandra shot back.

Sun-Tzu waved her off. "The scenario wasn't fair. It was just Rhialla indulging in her little grudge." With typical bad timing, Sun-Tzu said those words the moment Marion Rhialla entered the lounge, Maysa Bari in tow. Rhialla instantly went red-faced and advanced on Sun-Tzu to demolish him, but Sheila held up a hand to stop her. "You're right, Sun-Tzu," she said.

Taken aback, Sun-Tzu seemed to notice Sheila for the first time. Sheila pushed off the wall where she had been leaning. "You're right on both counts," Sheila added. "The scenario wasn't fair, and getting into short range with the four Gausses was a lot better than trying to fight it at range, where it has the advantage." Sheila knew that design—it was one of Sentinel Master Tech Nicia Caii-Senla's "dream designs," which she occasionally programmed into simulations. There was no possible way to put four Gauss Rifles on a 'Mech without making it abysmally slow or fatally thinly-armored—unless one used Clantech. Using the salvage found on Twycross, even if the Sentinels weren't allowed to keep it by their employers, Caii-Senla had found a way to pull it off. The 'Mech design was still slow and not very well-armored, and still weighed in at 100 tons, but as she said, it wouldn't have to run from anything. It would probably never see the light of day, along with the design that mounted fourteen medium lasers, but it was interesting to speculate. And with the Clans, one had to expect the unexpected.

Sun-Tzu was unused to having anyone agree with him, and it silenced him. Ragnar spoke up. "So if the scenario was unfair, why fight it?"

_Let them learn,_ Sheila heard Wolf say. "What do you think, Ragnar?"

Ragnar thought a moment, then nodded slowly. "Because fighting the Clans hasn't been very fair."

"Hard lock and fire," Sheila answered, with a burst of pride that a teacher would feel for a promising student. "Certainly you Rasalhagians have learned that lesson."

"At least I survived," Ragnar sighed.

"Not good enough," Sheila corrected. "You need to win, Ragnar. Like I said, Sun-Tzu had the right idea. Close in. You still might get shot to pieces, but you certainly will if you're plinking at it with PPC and autocannon fire."

"Who do we choose to sacrifice? You'd lose two 'Mechs getting that close." This from Victor.

Sheila faced him squarely. "Weren't you in command, Victor?" It was a shot in the dark, but from his expression, she could see she had hit home. "You make that decision."

"Well," Victor replied, a little hotly, "I _had_ put Galen and Hohiro back to cover us with LRMs, but she—" he thumbed at Marion "—she blasted Galen first."

"And why do you think I did that?" Marion told him. "I'm not going to sit there and play target for LRM fire, moron."

"Okay," Victor said, now feeling the proper fool, as he had let the attack on Marion's walking Gauss battery fall apart after losing Galen. "Fine. I screwed up—_again._ What could I have done to change that?"

"You and Sun-Tzu come at me at the same time rather than one at a time," Marion answered. "I would've had to split fire. Sure, I probably would've got one of you, but not both." She looked at Sun-Tzu and shook her head. "And as much as it pains me to admit this, he's right. My 'Mech is slow as hell and not very well-armored, even for a Clanner."

Sun-Tzu smirked. "Of course, you would've shot me first in any case."

"Wrong, rodent. I would've gunned the _Victor_ because he's got an AC/20 that could chew me a new asshole."

"Enough about that," Hohiro put in. His _Grand Dragon_ technically had survived the scenario as well, but only because the time had run out. He had been down to one medium laser and his missiles, having had the PPC neatly amputated. "Obviously we failed against the—whatever that thing was. And there was a _Hagetaga_—" he used the Kurita term for the Clan OmniMech the AFFC had termed the _Vulture_ "—keeping Miss Allard-Liao and Mister Magnusson pinned down. That still left Shin, myself, and Kai against the _Rifleman_, and we still lost."

"It was a _Rifleman IIC_," Sheila told him. "We faced those on Twycross. They're tough customers."

"Be as that may, it still carved us up like a Christmas turkey," Kai said. "Who was in that machine?"

Sheila spotted Maysa Bari edging for the exit, and pointed at her. "She was."

Hohiro turned and looked. "You?" Maysa meekly nodded. "But…you're…you're a _child!_ How old are you?"

Maysa had gone so pale Sheila feared she would pass out. "S-Sixteen…but I-I'll be s-s-seventeen in two months." It sounded like a five year old proud to be turning six.

Marion was proud of her adopted child. "Don't sound so stunned, Mister Kurita. She's not much younger than the average Clan warrior. She's also already got eight solo kills."

"She's sixteen and she's got eight kills?" Galen whistled. "Didn't know Gray Noton had any kids."

Hohiro was still upset. "A _sixteen year old_ systematically amputated the limbs from a _Centurion, _took off my _Dragon_'s PPC, and cored _Tai-i_ Yodama's _Phoenix Hawk?"_

Maysa's bottom lip began to tremble, then she suddenly began to cry, putting her face into her hands. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she pleaded. "I don't like killing people, so I try just to render them combat ineffective! _Please_ forgive me, sir! I'm so sorry!"

Hohiro looked even more stunned than before. He turned and stared at Sheila for a moment, his expression obviously asking if Maysa was for real. Shin Yodama found something infinitely interesting on the opposite wall, but the others were smothering smiles, even Kai, who reached forward and took Maysa's shoulder. "It's okay," he soothed her. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I feel just terrible," Maysa blubbered. "All of you are so much greater than me! I'm a nobody…"

"Now that's enough." To Sheila's surprise, it was Victor that spoke. "I think all of us learned an important lesson here. We may have all these fancy titles, but it's just like Colonel Wolf said—it didn't matter a chewed Taurian bull-buck on the field. Three of us got smoked by a teenager." He shook his head with a wry grin. "And I haven't been covering myself in glory these past two scenarios. My father told me that half of leadership is knowing when to shut up and listen."

"Now you're learning." Marion checked her watch. "I think that's enough for one day. Hit the showers. We'll start over again tomorrow."

They filed off, talking amongst themselves, still reviewing their actions. Hohiro spared Maysa one last glance, chuckled ironically—more at himself than anyone else—and left. Sun-Tzu also lingered for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something to Sheila, who waited expectantly. _Have we finally gotten through to him?_ she wondered. Then the moment passed and Sun-Tzu left as well. With a heavy sigh, Marion led the still-trembling Maysa from the room, leaving Sheila with Max.

They looked at each other. "I'm sorry," they said at the same time, and laughed. "Maybe I'd better go first," Max said.

"Why? I'm the one who acted like a bitch," Sheila told him. "Walking out of here in a huff was bad enough, but I never should've snapped at you like that."

"And I should've known better to undercut your command." He looked at the floor. "I tend to forget that I married two women—my wife Sheila, and Lieutenant Commander Arla-Vlata. So I'm still having trouble distinguishing between them sometimes."

Sheila walked over and enfolded him in a hug. "They both love you."

"And I love you." He kissed her forehead. "Though I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of saying you weren't being bitchy."

Sheila snickered. "Yeah. I deserved that."

Max struck a thoughtful pose. "You know, this is actually an opportunity." He looked down at her mischieviously. "We've never had make-up sex before." The humor faded from his face. "If you want to, of course." They had not made love since Doctor Higurashi's announcement; it didn't seem right. He had come to terms with it, but it was easy for him to do so: it was Sheila's body that was in question, not his.

"Want to?" Sheila blew out her breath, her face reddening. "I thought you'd never ask. That's probably what's wrong with me."

"Race you to the bedroom!"


	9. Shake Hands With the Devil

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: What's a good Battletech story without intrigue and Successor State backstabbing? Those of you who think that Marion Rhialla and Sheila Arla-Vlata have been getting away with too much when it comes to Romano Liao should like this chapter immensely. _

_Unfortunately, to really get what's going on here, you have to be somewhat familiar with the convoluted state of Inner Sphere politics. I've tried to provide as much background as possible, but some of it you'll probably have to find elsewhere. Most of what happens here is based on events chronicled in the _Warrior _trilogy by Michael Stackpole, and the now out of print _20 Year Update, _though there are online Battletech Wiki resources that can fill in the blank too. _

_Tigerstripe's Legionnaires are my own invention, though Marishigama's Legionnaires are Battletech canon. Duke Samuel Bonner is also my invention. __I'm also aware that there are holes in Romano Liao's theorizing you can drive hovertanks through, but remember we're dealing with someone who is quite off her rocker here—someone who can claim that the Clans are a Davion plot in one breath and that Davion's not doing enough to stop them in the next. It's a little late for Halloween, but Romano's definitely got some Hannibal Lecter in her…(and oh yes, Romano did have a thing for Justin Allard. Again, check out _Warrior: Riposte_, where she has a creepy fantasy of what Justin could do with his metal hand.)_

_Kat, Neko, Rouge (the usual suspects!): thanks as always for the reviews. I wish I could take credit for the "you must love the army…" line, but that would be a lie, and plagarism, since it's from Jeff Shaara's _The Killer Angels, _and the movie adaptation of same, _Gettysburg. _And Rouge, I have seen _The Thin Red Line, _but please don't get me started on how wrong it is historically (though it's beautiful cinematography). Now if we could only get some Battletech movies..I guess we'll just have to settle for the first ten minutes of _Transformers _until then._

_This chapter takes place immediately after Chapter 11 of _Blood Legacy.

* * *

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_6 April 3051_

Romano Liao stormed from the hearing chamber, infuriated beyond words. Her guards and her husband Tsen Shang trailed her at a distance; even her daughter Kali, who at the worst of times could pry a smile from her mother, knew better to draw close to the Chancellor when she was like this.

Somehow, she reached the office Jaime Wolf had provided for her without ordering someone killed. She desperately wanted to. Romano had learned long ago that the suffering of others made hers easier to bear; she did not know why this was so, only that it was. Her life was littered with failures, foremost having a sister that was better than she was in seemingly every way. Candace had been their father Maximilian's favorite; she had gained the affections of Justin Allard, whom Romano herself had lusted after; she had taken her St. Ives Compact out of the remnants of the Capellan Confederation to join Hanse Davion's winning side, and in her increasingly rare episodes of sanity, Romano often wondered if Candace had made the correct choice. Though Romano had kept House Liao afloat and fended off a joint Canopian-Andurien invasion ten years previously, she knew with poisonous certainty that she and her line existed at the mercy of Hanse Davion. Without the threat of the Clans, she assumed that Davion would have already begun preparations for the final destruction of the Confederation. Romano suspected the Clans were merely a giant deception plan, agreed to by all the Houses besides her own, to destroy her. The fact that evidence was overwhelmingly against that conclusion mattered not a bit: Romano knew the truth.

And what had just transpired only reinforced that idea. If Jaime Wolf was so committed to defending the Inner Sphere from this grave threat, then why had he allowed her son to be trained by one of her most hated enemies, forced to work with her greatest enemy's son, and humiliated by Candace's heir?

Her history with Marion Rhialla was really a minor thing. Rhialla had been a mercenary commander leading her own battalion, Tigerstripe's Legionnaires, and had earned laurels for her actions on Spica and Romano's own holdings on Highspire against House Davion. As Candace had favored a similarly-named and similarly-formed mercenary unit called Marishigama's Legionnaires, Romano, in response to her and her sister's eternal game of one-upmanship, had done the same behind the Tigerstripes. In an attempt to gain glory for herself, Romano had led an ill-starred attempt to raid New Aragon with part of the Sian household guard, the Red Lancers, and the Tigerstripes. The raid had been an abject failure, with both units mauled at the hands of the 12th Vegan Rangers, who had ambushed them in their own dropzones. It had resulted in an embarrassment to Romano, who had protested in vain to her angry father that she had been betrayed, almost certainly by Michael Hasek-Davion; Maximilian Liao had grown to take Hasek-Davion's reports as gospel and would not hear of it. It was made worse because Marion Rhialla, by simply screaming her way to the top, had gotten an audience with Romano's father and publicly accused her of cowardice. With the help of the Liao secret service, the Maskirovka, Romano managed to get Rhialla declared a traitor and her contract voided; Death Commandos had wiped out the unit soon thereafter when it tried to flee to the Federated Suns. Only seven MechWarriors, including Rhialla, had managed to escape. Two others had since died at the hands of bounty hunters, but Romano had largely lost interest in the five survivors, having other things on her mind; her assassins were kept busy killing off her brother Tormana Liao's Free Capella operatives, and occasionally forays against the Kell Hounds. Since Justin Allard was unreachable on St. Ives or New Avalon, Romano would settle for his brother Daniel, who was a little easier to get at on Arc-Royal.

But now, like some spectre from the grave, Marion Rhialla had returned to Romano Liao's life with a vengeance. She was not unconvinced that Jaime Wolf, Rhialla, and Rhialla's obstensible commanding officer, Sheila Arla-Vlata, were not plotting to get Sun-Tzu killed in a training accident. In a burst of irony that even her husband found bizarre, Romano actually agreed with Rhialla that Sun-Tzu could use some toughening, which was the only reason that he remained with the training group—that, and withdrawing him would be something of a concession to Candace, which simply could not happen.

Sitting sprawled over an office chair, staring out the window at the distant mountains across the vast Tetsuhara Proving Grounds, Romano pondered how to best enact her vengeance. Jaime Wolf was right in that she could do nothing here: the man who had successfully stood off the entire Draconis Combine and insulted Takashi Kurita to his face would not hesitate to simply have her killed if she moved on Outreach. Moreover, the power of Wolf's Dragoons made Wolf himself untouchable for now.

Romano regarded Sheila Arla-Vlata as a rather tiny irritant, like a persistent itch. In the hearing Romano had forced upon Wolf and the others, to evaluate Kai Allard-Liao's performance at Twycross, Sheila had been called to the stand as a background witness. She could provide nothing to help Romano—her report that the entire Falcon Guards had been coming through the Great Gash only made Kai look good, and she obviously thought that Kai had done the right thing in every way, though she had never said it. However, the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation knew fear when she saw it, and Sheila feared Romano Liao. That could be very useful.

Wolf was untouchable; Arla-Vlata was a minor threat, at best. That left Marion Rhialla, who could be gotten to but who didn't fear Romano at all. Maddeningly, she seemed to hold Romano in contempt. Rhialla was taking great pains to make Sun-Tzu's life a misery—the fact that Romano herself made Sun-Tzu far more miserable never entered his mother's mind. That and all that had gone before was plenty of reason to dispatch either the Death Commandos or Thugee assassins after the infamous Tigerstripe herself. Unfortunately, Romano's plan ran head-on into reality: Rhialla could not be touched on Outreach, and trying to do it on the Clan front, which promised to be fluid indeed, would be very difficult.

Romano sat in the chair for nearly half an hour, twisting and turning ideas in her mind, most of which involved the very painful death of Marion Rhialla. Finally there was a knock on the office door. "Enter," she hissed. To her surprise, it was not her husband or her daughter, but just one of her minor functionaries, her secretary. "What do you want?"

Instantly, the man was on the floor, head bent low. "Forgive me, Celestial Wisdom, but-but you have someone w-waiting for you…he's been w-waiting for almost an hour now…"

"Who is it?" When the secretary hesitated, Romano shot to her feet. "Spit it out, you worm!" Yet the man was so terrified he could do nothing but stay on the floor.

Romano advanced, prepared to give him a savage kick—which would do much to allieviate her own frustration—when she noticed that someone else stood in the doorway, his entrance blocked by her personal guardsmen. He smiled and bowed deferentially. "Forgive the intrusion, Madam Chancellor. My name is Samuel Bonner, Duke of Furillo." Evidently, he noticed that she was having trouble remembering where Furillo was. "In the Skye March, Madam Chancellor, of the Federated Commonwealth."

Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped to freezing levels. "What do _you_ want?"

Bonner, to her surprise, stood his ground. He was a big man, a good foot taller than she was and twice as broad, all of it muscle, and rather handsome, with deceptively placid features and a graying goatee. "We had a meeting, Madam Chancellor—"

"I have better things to do than entertain the Fox's flunkies!"

"Undoubtedly, Madam Chancellor," Bonner replied patiently, "but I am no flunky of the Fox, or his brood mare, Melissa Steiner."

Romano's mind cleared of its murderous red haze. She noticed that Bonner's voice was edged in contempt for Hanse Davion, and his reference to Melissa Steiner as a brood mare she particularly liked—and he pointedly had not referred to Melissa by her correct surname, Steiner-Davion. Now she was intrigued, though it would be best not to show it. "Very well," she sighed. She toed her secretary, who jumped to his feet and retreated, bowing constantly, and nodded to her guards to let Bonner through. She did not need to ask that the Duke of Furillo had been thoroughly and uncomfortably searched to even get this far. Normally, only her immediate family was allowed in Romano's presence without at least two of her guards, but, mainly for amusement, Romano allowed Bonner to enter alone. She took a seat behind the desk that, aside from another chair, was the room's only furnishing. Bonner took the other seat without being invited. "I didn't ask you to be seated," she snapped.

"Yes, Madam Chancellor, I know." Bonner crossed his legs, smiling at her. "Were the situation reversed, you would not wait for me."

"You dare presume parity with me?" Romano shrilled. It was an act: she had found that acting insane was a potent weapon, though Romano herself tended to forget when she was acting.

Bonner seemed completely unruffled. "Of course not, Madam. You are the ruler of the Capellan Confederation, whereas I am only a duke…and a rather minor one at that, I must admit. Yet we do have common interests."

"Such as? Your world is far from any of mine."

"True...but not so far as New Avalon or Tharkad."

Romano pointedly looked around. "These walls have ears, Duke Bonner."

"With respect, Madam Chancellor, I doubt that. Your own security services sweep it for bugs at least three times a day, and Jaime Wolf's agents once." He chuckled at the look of surprise on Romano's face. "Wolf is not as above the fray as he would think, nor are all the Dragoons as noble as he would wish. He has your room, as well as everyone else's, swept to keep the Houses from using this conference as an excuse for spying. So by his diligence, our discussion is, as it is said on Tharkad, under four eyes."

"You know as well as I do that Justin Allard's vipers can nest anywhere."

"Yes—and you know that lesson better than anyone else, Madam Chancellor. But whereas you are the Celestial Wisdom of House Liao, I am, again, merely a minor noble. Allard has better things to do than spy on me."

Romano shrugged. She had several plots underway at a given time to wreak havoc in the Federated Commonwealth; one more wouldn't make a difference, and if Bonner was risking being "retired" by MIIO, that was his problem. "Very well, Duke Bonner. You have my interest."

"Thank you, Your Highness." Bonner steepled his hands in front of him. "As you are aware, Madam Chancellor, the Lyran Commonwealth—"

"There is no Lyran Commonwealth," Romano interrupted with a nasty smile, "only the Lyran half of the _Federated_ Commonwealth."

Bonner's temper flared for a brief moment. "For now." Romano's smile remained; now she knew who she was dealing with. The union of House Steiner and Davion had not gone completely seamlessly. There were a few Davion nobles who did not like it, but most opposition to Hanse Davion had disappeared with Michael Hasek-Davion's death. Steiner, on the other hand, was far more vocal, with a considerable opposition led by Duke Ryan Steiner. His faction was widely believed to have been behind the Free Skye Movement, which had advocated independence for that realm. Demonstrations there in 3034 had been put down by Hanse in one of the few heavy-handed moments of his career. Though the charismatic Melissa had smoothed things over, resentment still simmered there, something the Liao Maskirovka occasionally took advantage of. Bonner was evidently one of Ryan Steiner's allies. Now this was getting truly interesting. "I apologize," Romano said. "Please continue."

"As you know," Bonner said, "the _Lyran_ half, as you put it, has taken the bulk of the damage from the Clans, and our economy is being bled dry to fight them. Hanse Davion has promised reinforcements from his half to support us and prevent further Clan predations, but so far only a handful of troops have appeared—and aside from very limited offensives on Twycross and Planting, neither he nor Melissa have been giving much attention to trying to take back the worlds we have lost. They seem content to sit here on Outreach. My sources have even informed me that Hanse has concluded some sort of treaty with House Kurita!"

_Ah,_ Romano thought, _the traditional Steiner bugaboo._ Losing the worlds Steiner had finally taken back from Kurita during the Fourth Succession War to form the Free Rasalhague Republic had not set well with either Ryan Steiner's faction, or Selvin Kelswa's on Tamar. Many people in those factions thought Davion had sold them down the river, buying peace with territory that wasn't his. A nonaggression pact with House Kurita when both faced the Clans was smart, even to Romano, but she also knew that to these people, being conquered by the Clans was preferable to any deal with the Dragon. "I have heard the same things, Duke Bonner." For added spice, she threw in, "I have also heard that Victor Steiner-Davion and Omi Kurita are apparently, ah, interested in each other."

Bonner scowled. "That doesn't surprise me, Your Highness."

"_I_ am interested in what you plan to do about it…and why you are telling me all this."

"The reason why I am here is merely to let you know that not all the nobles of the Federated Commonwealth are, as you say, flunkies of the Fox."

Romano laughed harshly. "You think that is news to me? You _are_ flunkies, Duke Bonner, and until you act, you will be nothing but pretty words!"

Bonner obviously fought to keep his temper. "We intend to act, Madam Chancellor, but not so overtly as to invite Hanse Davion to simply stomp us flat on the way to fighting the Clans. Instead, we intend to conclude a separate peace with the Clans. Lyran troops will not fight them in exchange for the worlds we have already lost—except for, perhaps, a token world or two. Nor will we assist those units who do. Davion will have to withdraw his troops from Lyran territory or risk being isolated. We would even allow the Clans free passage to attack Davion units who do not abide by the terms of the treaty."

"Where do I come in?"

"You can assist in several ways, Madam Chancellor. Right now what we need is a honest broker, one who does not have a vested interest in either the Clans or the Federated Commonwealth. An approach made by Liao agents to the Clans, outlining our terms—and perhaps yours as well, if you also wanted to sign a treaty—would be welcomed. You would be the middle person." Bonner paused, then went in for the kill. "Both of us get what we want: an opportunity to wound Hanse Davion. We get our lands back into their rightful hands, and you get a Federated Suns that faces Clan troops bearing down from one direction, and Liao troops in the other. Perhaps you could even persuade the Taurians to join with you."

Romano kept her face neutral, but her mind soared with possibilities. If the Clans were as savage as Jaime Wolf claimed they were, then the AFFC would have its hands full trying to keep them out of House Davion territory. In the confusion, it would be simple to take back the St. Ives Compact, or even grab back worlds like Liao itself or Tikonov. The idiot Taurians were always easy to manipulate, and while their troops would not last long against Davion regulars, they would provide further distraction.

There was, of course, one gigantic flaw in Bonner's plan: the Clans might simply ignore his offers of a treaty and overrun the Lyran Commonwealth, independent or not. Still, if Davion had to fight both the Clans and the fire in his rear from separatists like Bonner or Ryan Steiner, then that too provided plenty of opportunity for House Liao. "I am surprised," Romano said at length. "If the Fox knew you were meeting with me, I imagine you would find yourself suddenly stricken with poor health."

"It is a risk I am willing to take, Your Highness. My country has already been overrun by Hanse Davion; I'll not see it destroyed by the Clans because the Fox won't bow to the inevitable. Better to cut cards with the devil than see my home wrecked in a cause we have already lost."

Romano raised an eyebrow. "That is a rather damning assessment of the AFFC, Duke Bonner."

"They are brave men and women, Madam Chancellor, but nothing we have can stop them. A peace treaty at least buys us time."

_Appeasement,_ Romano thought with contempt. _Riding the tiger and hope it eats everyone else before it can get to you._ She had had the opportunity to appease Canopus and Andurien, but against her advisors had chosen to fight, and won.

And now she would win again. Romano nodded. "All right, Duke Bonner. My communications are monitored here by Wolf's Dragoons, and I'm sure that sanctimonious bastard Jaime Wolf would take offense at your vision. I will nonetheless send people to you as soon as possible."

"There is a trade fair on Solaris VII at the end of the month. Representatives from both Houses Marik and Liao will be there," Bonner said slyly.

"Yes? Well, then, I should think that we could find common ground for 'trade.'" Romano smiled. "There is, of course, one problem." An idea began to germinate in her mind.

"And that is?"

"The Clans will not merely accept the word of a friendly messenger. From what Wolf has said, they also want 'trade.' In return for hearing out your—our—generous proposal, they will want certain bona fides. Something in return, to hear us out."

"I am aware of this, Madam Chancellor. We could offer information."

"Such as certain troop movements?"

Bonner bristled. "Yes, but only of non-Lyran units. I don't care what happens to the damn Davions, but I'm not going to sell my countrymen down the river."

Romano wanted to laugh at that; it was obvious to her that Bonner was already doing so. "Oh, certainly. I was actually thinking of, say, mercenary units. Like the Kell Hounds, perhaps? Or the Sentinels?"

Bonner nodded. No one cared about mercenaries. "That sounds reasonable. As far as I know, the Kell Hounds are going to Sudeten, but the Sentinels just deployed to Vantaa."

"That is a good start, but the Clans will figure that out by asking when they attack those worlds. I was thinking of personnel—certain mercenaries."

"The Clans would probably find Morgan Kell's battle history rather interesting, I think. A definite threat. Then there's Sheila and Maximilian Arla-Vlata's being part of the Junior Officers' Strategy Group, Morgan Hasek-Davion's think-tank group that helped plan the Twycross and Planting counterattacks. The Knights of St. Cameron's fascination with the Star League might prove useful…or even Christian Kell's connections to the yakuza, though I'm not sure what they'd make of that."

Romano filed that away for later use; she hadn't known about the son of Patrick Kell having any connections to the criminal underground of House Kurita. It might prove entertaining to spring on her husband when she needed an excuse to rail about the shortcomings of the Maskirovka.

But more importantly, Morgan Kell's history would prove most interesting to his likely opponents, as would Sheila Arla-Vlata's JOSG credentials. It would be an oblique strike at Dan Allard and Marion Rhialla: if she could not wound those people directly, then Romano would get at those who she could and do so indirectly. If she was truly lucky, communicating those facts to the Clans would make the Kell Hounds and the Sentinels more tempting targets, and hopefully get two of her enemies in the way of Clan lasers and shells. Romano didn't mind, in the old Kurita proverb, killing with a borrowed sword.

She stood, and Bonner did the same. "Well, Your Grace," she addressed him formally, and put out her hand. "I must say that your idea is…ah…intriguing in the best way." She laughed; it was not pleasant to the ears. "Have your people call on mine on Solaris. They can do lunch!"

Bonner laughed as well and took her hand.


	10. Clan Interlude II: Trial of Possession

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another chapter with no Sheila in it. Don't worry, she'll be back in the next one. This is called setting the stage._

_Again, a slight deviation from Battletech canon. Vantaa is listed as being taken by Clan Wolf in the third wave of the invasion, before the lull. In this timeline, however, Vantaa has not yet been taken by the Wolves. (This is not too much of a deviation: the _Jade Falcon Sourcebook _lists Alyina as having fallen in fall 3050, with Kai Allard-Liao listed as missing, presumed dead. However, according to _Blood Legacy _and every other Battletech sourcebook, Alyina did not fall nor Kai disappear until January 3052.) Nor is there any mention of a spate of Trials of Grievance between the Wolves and Jade Falcons, but given these two Clans' history, I'm sure it's not beyond the realm of possibility._

_Again, Senefa Malthus and Athena Henderson are my own inventions, as are the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers; Cavell Malthus is an expansion on a very minor character in the Blood of Kerensky trilogy. All other characters are canon. And if Senefa sounds like a female Clan version of Spock, then 1) good, because she's supposed to, and 2) I've been watching waaaay too much _Star Trek _lately._

_This chapter takes place roughly during and immediately after Chapter 12 of _Blood Legacy.

* * *

_Hall of the Jade Falcons Compound_

_Strana Mechty, Clan Homeworlds_

_25 April 3051_

Senefa Malthus watched the computer screen intently, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers in thought.

It was of a battle recently undertaken by the freebirth _abtakha_ Phelan Wolf against three other adversaries, also of the Wolf clan. All four were in _Kit Foxes,_ what Senefa knew the Inner Sphere had coded _Ullers_ for some reason, so the 'Mech type gave no advantage to the warriors. It was only a training session, but Senefa still had obtained the ROM through a Trial of Possession, against the Clan Wolf Elemental who had insulted her months previously. It had served a double purpose as a Trial of Grievance. Either way, the Wolves were burying the Elemental, while Senefa only had a few more bruises and a sore back from the Trial.

_Fascinating,_ she thought. _Clan doctrine is to assume the defensive at three-to-one odds, draw out the opponents one by one, and kill them as they come. Phelan instead is going on the attack, engaging all three at once._ As she watched, Phelan quickly dispatched two of the "enemy" 'Mechs, whose MechWarriors seemed rattled by his sheer bloody-minded enthusiasm. Only the third gave him more trouble, and the battle soon became a game of cat and mouse. Phelan lost, but only just. Senefa punched in a command, and it confirmed what she suspected. The third MechWarrior was Star Captain Ranna. It was no great secret that she had taken a shine to the Inner Sphere warrior, and the two were almost certainly lovers. It gave her a small edge in combat—no, Senefa corrected herself, there was more to Ranna's victory than having literally intimate knowledge of her opponent. Unsatisfied, Senefa restarted the ROM from the beginning.

"By Kerensky himself, Star Colonel, are you still watching that?"

Senefa paused the ROM and swiveled the chair around to face the speaker. "Yes, Star Captain Henderson. Do you require the computer?" That was a rhetorical question, since there were other computers available.

Star Captain Athena Henderson shook her head. "No, Star Colonel. I was just wondering if I might have a few moments of your time."

Senefa stood. "Certainly. Let us take a walk; I think more clearly while doing so." Henderson nodded and both left the complex, which was attached to the Hall of the Falcons. Outside, the air was crisp but warmer, a sure sign that spring was coming to Strana Mechty. Senefa thought the planet beautiful, but preferred her own homeworld of Ironhold. The latter was nowhere near as beautiful as Strana Mechty, but in its very harshness Senefa found it peaceful and stable—and certainly not rife with politics, as the capitol of the Clans was.

As they walked, Athena Henderson kept her silence, waiting for her commander to speak, and Senefa took the opportunity to study her new second in command. Like Phelan Wolf, Athena was also _abtakha,_ from Clan Hell's Horses, taken in a battle shortly before the invasion of the Inner Sphere and not long after she had won her Bloodname in her previous Clan. In the Clans, being _abtakha_ brought no real dishonor, and Athena was a superb fighter, and quickly made Star Commander in the battles with the Periphery pirates just prior to the Jade Falcons' first strike into the Federated Commonwealth. She had made Star Captain with the 7th Falcon Regulars, and when Senefa's second-in-command had been killed on Planting fighting the Kell Hounds, Athena had been appointed to the position. Senefa would have preferred Star Captain Kezumi, but Kezumi was unblooded and, at age forty-two, was considered on the way out by Clan standards, so Athena Henderson it was.

Senefa regarded Athena. She was not quite as tall as Senefa, though she also had black hair that she wore long. Her face was deceptively placid and made her look far younger than her real age, thirty. Athena was competent, hardworking to a fault, and on the outside, accepted her assignment to the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers with enthusiasm. In most things, she and Senefa got along well, though their relationship had yet to be proven in combat. Still, Senefa wondered how much of that enthusiasm was forced. Athena was ambitious and had made no secret that she wanted her own Cluster, as a stepping stone to becoming saKhan and eventually Khan of her adopted Clan. The Jade Falcons had never had an _abtakha_ Khan, and were not about to start, but that just whetted Athena's appetite for advancement even more. Indeed, she had even told Senefa that she regarded her executive officer status as temporary. Senefa had no problem with that: ambition had its place, and if Athena was competent enough, Cluster command would be hers. But if Star Captain Athena Henderson was stupid enough to try and wrest the 133rd away from Senefa, well, there were Circles of Equals for that.

"What is on your mind, Star Captain?" Senefa began.

"The Wolves, Star Colonel."

"What about them?"

"They accuse you of cheating in that last Trial."

"They did, quiaff?"

It took a moment for Athena to realize that Senefa was once more being rhetorical. "Aff. You do not care?"

"I do not. Let the Wolves think what they think. If it concerns them enough, they will challenge me." Senefa left it at that.

Athena, however, was not about to. "Still, Star Colonel, it seems that the Wolves are bent on heaping insults on us. I have heard rumors that they wish to bring in the _stravag_ Steel Vipers—and put them in _our_ invasion corridor! I thought such talk might dissipate when they get rid of that fool Ulric Kerensky, but apparently the Wolves are a hundred percent for such a move!"

"It should not come as a surprise, Star Captain. We are the Wolves' chief rival, quiaff? The Ghost Bears are plodding along and could not even outbid Khan Ulric for Rasalhague; the Smoke Jaguars cannot advance without breaking everything they come across, fanatics that they are. So the Wolves seek to slow us down." Senefa sighed. "There is also the fact that we and the Jaguars are the only ones to suffer a defeat. We should consider ourselves lucky that the Steel Vipers are not the only ones being assigned to us—we did, after all, suffer two defeats to the Jaguars' one, on Wolcott, though few dispute the claim that the Jaguars acted foolishly on Turtle Bay, using orbital bombardment to quell a relatively minor problem."

"The Spheroids were lucky, quiaff? That moron Adler Malthus marched the Falcon Guards into a killing ground." Abruptly, Athena remembered who now possessed Adler Malthus' Bloodname. "I apologize, Star Colonel…I had forgotten."

"No need to apologize," Senefa replied. "You are correct—Adler Malthus was a moron. Still, his move into the Great Gash was sound, and he could hardly turn down a Trial of Possession, quiaff? I suspect we wish to blame Adler when the real reason is that the Spherians used sound tactics, just as they did on Wolcott."

"Or on Planting?" Athena could not help but mention it.

"Aff, as on Planting," Senefa agreed, though it took an act of will not to clench her fists. "I am as guilty as Adler of hubris, Star Captain, but I assure you that the mistake will not happen again."

Athena decided to let the matter rest. She held nothing against her commander for losing a Trial on Planting, and indeed was glad to see the _ristar_ Senefa taken down a peg—though she kept the latter to herself. "Still, Star Colonel, it is hard to accept the Wolves' insults. I am glad that you killed that Elemental, but there will be more Circles and more Trials." Her tone of voice was one of anticipation, not sorrow. She glanced over at the Hall of the Wolves. "I heard that the Wolves may censure Khan Ulric."

Senefa chuckled. "For what? Since when should someone be censured for success?" Senefa answered her own question. "When there is _political_ advantage to be wrung from it, quiaff?"

"Aff. Ulric is a Warden," Athena answered. "The Crusaders of the Wolves wish to strip him of power or depose him altogether."

"Then they are fools. For a Warden, Khan Ulric is showing remarkable ability to conquer."

"Aff, Star Colonel, but there are some who say he is being far too gentle with the Inner Sphere. Look at his allies and advisors—that ancient crone Natasha Kerensky, the Spheroid ComStar organization, and that freebirth Phelan!" Athena bared her teeth. "Someone should kill that one."

Senefa suppressed another sigh. Besides her ambition, the other weakness Athena had was her complete contempt for freebirths of all stripes. She was not unique in this regard by any means: many, if not most trueborn Clan MechWarriors had that attitude. Senefa did not share it, but only because she saw warriors as tools to be used: if a MechWarrior was born of an iron womb or a real one, what did it matter if he or she contributed to victory, which in the end was all that mattered? Certainly any lingering notions of trueborn infallibility had been beaten out of her by Sheila Arla-Vlata. Athena's problem was that she carried it to extremes, which few Hell's Horses did but many Jade Falcons were guilty of. Senefa believed that her new executive was a classic example of the old adage that there was nothing more fanatic than a convert. "Phelan will be undergoing his Trial of Position soon. Perhaps you should see if you could be one of his opponents."

Athena smiled hungrily. "Not a bad idea, Star Colonel. Not a bad idea at all." She glanced at her commander. "What _is_ your opinion on the Great Question? Are you a Warden or a Crusader?"

Senefa smiled as well, at her subordinate's lack of tact. "If I answered that I was a Warden, would you ask to be reassigned?" The smile grew wider at Athena's obvious discomfort and inability to hide it. "Fear not, Star Captain. I am not a Warden…but neither am I a Crusader. I go where my Clan goes, nothing more. I see no reason to abuse the Spherians to make myself feel stronger; I am not a Smoke Jaguar, after all." They shared a laugh about that. "In any case, Star Captain, I doubt that Khan Ulric will be censured."

* * *

A few hours later, Senefa walked down the hallway towards the office of saKhan Cavell Malthus. According to the net, her suspicions had been confirmed that Ulric had indeed avoided censure from his own Clan. When news of that had gotten out onto the shared Clan net, similar motions of censure and impeachment had immediately been introduced by the Smoke Jaguars and the Jade Falcons to the Grand Council. Worse, in Senefa's opinion, a Jade Falcon MechWarrior had immediately challenged a Trial of Grievance against the Wolves for their "cowardice"; that warrior had been swiftly dispatched by Star Colonel Katya Kerensky. Because Katya had used a _Timber Wolf_ equipped with jumpjets, which was rare, and leapt behind her opponent to kill him, a few Jade Falcons swiftly accused her of "Spheroid tactics." Yet another Trial of Grievance, this time for cheating, was in the works.

It infuriated Senefa at the ridiculousness of it. There had been no cheating; Katya had merely taken advantage of her opponent's lack of imagination. Senefa's own _Summoner_ had jumpjets, and she certainly felt there was no dishonor in jumping behind an opponent. It was merely sound tactics, and the new Trial was nothing more than sour grapes at yet another Jade Falcon embarassment.

She straightened her uniform and knocked at the saKhan's door. "Enter," a voice inside bade her. She did, and came to attention before Cavell Malthus' desk. He was leaning back in an ancient leather chair, reading from a datapad; old printed books lay strewn about the desk and filled shelves around them. Senefa was always amazed at her commander's voracious reading. While it was certainly not discouraged for warriors to read, it was not necessarily encouraged either, and few warriors read more than the epic poem of the Clans, the Remembrance, or what they needed to know from manuals and tactical doctrine. Senefa noted some of the titles: _Starship Troopers, Space Cadet, Uhura's Song, On Basilisk Station._ These were not military history tracts or missives on the use of 'Mechs, but science fiction by their cracked and lurid covers; 20th Century science fiction, if she guessed correctly. Then she realized she had let her mind wander, and Cavell Malthus was looking at her intently, though he was smiling. "What is it, Star Colonel? You requested a meeting."

Senefa quickly covered her curiosity. "Aff, ovkhan. I wished to speak about the Trials we are fighting with the Wolves."

His face darkened. "What about them?"

"I believe they are a waste, ovkhan. We are losing valuable warriors—both Clans are—to little more than imagined insults and jealousy."

"You participated in one. Quite successfully as I recall, quiaff?"

"Aff, ovkhan, but I was the one challenged."

Cavell set down the datapad and leaned forward over his desk. "And therein lies the problem, Star Colonel—Senefa," he amended, with some affection. "I agree that the Trials are wasteful, especially when we already are facing a Galaxy-level Trial with the Steel Vipers over Khan Crichell's blood legacy." Cavell was handling things until Elias Crichell returned from that battle, on Huntress. If Elias failed to return, then that would make Cavell Khan—though he doubted that Vandervahn Chistu would allow that to stand, and doubted that Elias would be killed; the man had more lives than a cat. "And I agree that most of the controversy is manufactured. This business about Khan Ulric—it is none of our business. I hate him, but unless the Wolves defy the Grand Council, a Wolf decision being challenged by a Jade Falcon should have been laughed at. Had I known it sooner, I would have quashed it. This accusation of cheating by Katya Kerensky is likewise rubbish." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Despite that, Senefa, I have little choice. We cannot simply ban Trials of Grievance, because there are some cases, such as yours, when they are necessary."

"I know, ovkhan, but I propose a solution—and it is well that you bring up our Trial on Huntress, because it is similar to what I was thinking of." She crossed over to a small holotank in a corner of Cavell's office, switched it on, and quickly called up a map of the Inner Sphere, then zoomed in to the "border" between the Jade Falcons and the Wolves' invasion corridors. The Jade Falcons' conquests burned green, while the Wolves glowed brown; the unconquered worlds of the Inner Sphere were colored in blue for the Federated Commonwealth and purple for the Free Rasalhague Republic. Sticking like a thumb across the front of the Jade Falcons' zone and into the Wolves was Planting. Senefa pointed to it. "Part of the reason why we agreed to leave Planting so readily was that we had essentially stolen it from the Wolves' corridor, quiaff? As you said, ovkhan, it was better to let the Wolves spend the blood and treasure to take back a world that should have been theirs to begin with."

Cavell nodded. "True."

"I am not proposing we attempt to retake it, but I was thinking that we instead turn our attention to isolating Planting from being used as a base for further offensives into our, or the Wolves', territory." Her finger moved down, to Vantaa, which lay at the base of the thumb. "Vantaa lies on the border between our two invasion corridors. The Wolves were slated to take it before the death of the ilKhan at Radstadt. I say we channel the frustration of our two Clans and offer a Trial of Possession for Vantaa."

Cavell got up and looked at the map. "That is a good solution, Senefa. Before we returned here, the latest information we had from ComStar was that the garrison on Vantaa consisted of roughly four battalions of 'Mechs, made up of units both we and the Wolves had savaged on earlier campaigns." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Four battalions is a large enough force to be a challenge, and we would be facing veterans from earlier campaigns. Yet it is also a small enough force not to prevent an overt amount of difficulty."

"Moreover, I believe the Wolves would accept the Trial for the simple fact that it might pull forces away from Planting, which they will face a hard campaign retaking," Senefa added.

Cavell smiled. "I think it is time to pay Khan Ulric a social call, quiaff?"

* * *

Khan Ulric Kerensky was, like many Clan MechWarriors, a big man. In his late forties, his goatee had gone prematurely white, but that only added to his presence. Senefa, who had never met Ulric, could see why he commanded respect from his warriors, even those who despised him. The man radiated confidence and power, added to by a deep voice that could be either friendly or threatening when it suited Ulric.

To their surprise, Ulric had offered to come to the Jade Falcons' hall rather than meet on neutral ground. Senefa had wondered why until he had shown up with Natasha Kerensky in tow. Moreover, while Cavell and Senefa had changed into formal uniforms, both Ulric and Natasha wore fatigues. It made the Jade Falcons look overdressed and instantly put them on the defensive. Nonetheless, Cavell stepped forward, offering his hand. "Khan Ulric. A pleasure."

"I doubt that," Ulric laughed warmly, but returned the handshake. "Still, it is good to see you, Khan Cavell."

Cavell motioned the Wolves to seats around a holotank. They were in one of the formal meeting rooms of the Jade Falcons' hall. "And Natasha Kerensky. Your reputation precedes you."

"I'm sure it does," Natasha snapped. She was clearly in no mood for the give-and-take of diplomacy.

"And this is Star Colonel Senefa Malthus," Cavell added, ignoring Natasha's lack of decorum. "She has a plan that I think you will find intriguing."

Senefa gave a small bow to the elder Wolves. "Good evening, Khan Ulric—Colonel Natasha Kerensky." Senefa used the woman's Inner Sphere rank, knowing it would throw her off-balance. She went right into her presentation; it was obvious the Wolves were not standing on ceremony. "It has come to our Clan's attention recently that the spate of Trials of Grievance have begun to spiral out of control. When the war with the Inner Sphere resumes, we need trained and qualified warriors too much to allow them to kill each other over minor and imagined insults."

Ulric folded his hands on the table and nodded. "That is true," he said. "I am pleased to hear that the Jade Falcons feel the same way."

"We must not lose sight of our eventual goal," Senefa continued. "With both factors in mind, I believe that our two Clans should channel our rivalry against our common enemy." She activated the tank and made her pitch for Vantaa in the same way she had with Cavell. "Four battalions of enemy 'Mechs is a worthy adversary, but not too large to cause undue resources to be committed to taking the planet. Taking Vantaa also isolates Planting, and may forestall further Inner Sphere counterattacks on our occupation zones until we are ready to resume our offensive."

Ulric leaned back in his chair, stroking his goatee in thought. "That is indeed an interesting idea," he said at length, "for the reasons you mentioned. In fact, I think I can assist you in your planning."

Cavell raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Aff. Vantaa is theoretically assigned to the Wolves, though I have no problem with accepting a Trial of Possession for the planet. Since it is assigned to us, however, I had ComStar provide information about the forces defending it just before we departed the Inner Sphere." Ulric closed his eyes in thought. "Your initial assessment of four battalions is correct, Star Colonel. As I recall, the units consisted of elements of the 10th Donegal Guards and the 12th Star Guards."

Senefa nodded, inwardly amazed at Ulric's powers of recall. She wondered if somehow the Wolf Khan had anticipated this. "That squares with our intelligence." The Jade Falcons also drew on the information provided by ComStar, which was pooled among the Clans, but Cavell, neither trusting the Wolves nor ComStar, had ordered both warriors and techs to strip conquered worlds of all the intelligence they could, no matter how trivial. While there had been plenty of complaints about doing "menial" work, it had paid off on occasion. As Cavell had told an irate Elias Crichell, the Spherians were simply not going to always observe batchall, and it was better to indulge in a little cloak-and-dagger rather than walk into an ambush. "Both units have faced us before and are undoubtedly refitting."

"There is one other thing," Ulric added, "something that ComStar informed us in a long-range burst transmission that we received just before the _Dire Wolf_ jumped for Strana Mechty." Senefa waited, noticing immediately that Natasha was fighting a smile. That meant whatever was coming was bad . "The Vantaa garrison has been reinforced. Apparently our opposite numbers have seen the same threat we do."

"That is logical," Senefa replied. "Do you know the strength and identity of the new unit?"

"Aff," Ulric said, without a trace of smugness, which was more than could be said for Natasha. "It is the three battalions of the Sentinels RCAT."

Senefa was proud that she had enough control of her emotions not to visibly react to the knowledge, though it was obvious that the Wolves intended for her to be rocked by it. Inwardly, she was, to the core. _If the Sentinels are there, Sheila Arla-Vlata will be as well!_ "That does change things, quiaff? I had initially thought that the bidding should have a ceiling of a single Cluster, to avoid an underbidding contest that neither Clan would benefit from. The Sentinels are one of the most experienced units in the Federated Commonwealth's touman, and their commander is quite skilled. Nonetheless, they too are rebuilding, as they suffered heavy casualties on Planting. I agree that the AFFC high command will be quick to recognize Vantaa's importance. It may be that the planet has been further reinforced since our departure…or that ComStar does not tell the whole truth."

"Very true." Ulric stood and leaned forward. If he was disappointed by Senefa's lack of reaction, he showed no signs of it himself. He touched the dot that represented Vantaa. It quickly grew to fill the holofield, showing the outline of the planet's main continent, which was shaped like a L lying on its long side. "Vantaa has one single large continent and four smaller ones. I believe we can ignore the smaller continents; the Federated Commonwealth will defend the main population and industrial centers." He pointed to those. "Rissala is the planetary capitol, located to the south, along the Kuopio River. The main industrial base of the planet, however, is Cold Harbour, to the northeast. There is plenty of good defensive ground in both areas—Rissala is bordered to the west by many small lakes, which will channel attacks, and to the east by high mountain ranges. Cold Harbour is in slightly better ground for the offense, along the Anna River, but to the north there are a number of rivers and swamps that favor the defender." Ulric's hand swept to the west of Cold Harbour. "The easiest approach to the city is to the west, down the Massanutten Valley, but it too has a number of areas where a defender could make life rather miserable for an attacker." Ulric straightened to his full height, clasping his arms behind his back. "With that in mind, I agree that we should set a minimum of one Cluster for each Clan. The objective for each Clan should be one of either Rissala or Cold Harbour." Ulric motioned towards Cavell. "Since your Clan is the one who first broached this idea, saKhan Cavell, I cede to you the choice of objectives."

Cavell stood as well. It was understood that both Clans would handle the bidding internally, as it were, but they could begin planning immediately. "I choose Cold Harbour."

It was Ulric's turn to raise an eyebrow. The Wolves tended to be slightly more mobile than the Falcons, and the lake region west of Rissala would play to their strengths better than the broken ground north of Cold Harbour. "Then the Wolves will take Rissala. Bargained well and done."

"Bargained well and done," Cavell repeated. He could not resist a smile and glanced back at the holomap. The names of the towns and cities of northeastern Vantaa had immediately jumped out at him: Shepherdstown, Sharpsburg, Leesburg, Marye's Heights, Mechanicsville. Obviously the settlers of northeast Vantaa had hailed from the tidewater Eastern Seaboard of the ancient United States of America, whereas the settlers of the southeast, the ones who had gotten there first and named the world, had come from Finland. On the surface, it meant nothing, but to a historian like Cavell Malthus—or Calla Bighorn-Vlata—the northeast resonated with the sound of ancient battles, the largest and bloodiest engagements fought on North American soil until the Amaris War, during the American Civil War. Instantly, Cavell had known where Calla Bighorn-Vlata would put his regiment. Senefa was not the only one who wished a rematch.


	11. We Band of Brothers and Sisters

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'll be honest. I had a tough time figuring out how to end this chapter, which is the last of this story arc. Thank goodness for YouTube, since after a quick dose of some of the greatest movie speeches (namely Gene Hackman's in _Crimson Tide _and Al Pacino's in _Scent of a Woman_), I finally found what I was looking for. Originally, I was going to have this big final confrontation between Marion Rhialla and Sun-Tzu Liao, but it turned out too Mary Sue and too long, so I deleted it and I'll save that for some other chapter. Funny how things work: this story is supposed to be about Sheila Arla-Vlata, but this particular arc ended up being more about Marion Rhialla. Looks like she's managed to take over her own character! The next arc will be more Sheila-centered, I promise. (It'll also have more 'Mech battles. I apologize for making _Snowbird's Interlude _a little too talky.)_

_Just a quick note and a bit of a spoiler, since it won't be mentioned again in the story. There's no real way the FedCom would know that the Clans are planning to attack Vantaa (which is against canon anyway), and therefore no real way to get Sheila and Company off Outreach and to Vantaa to participate in the campaign. So I had to come up with a reason why the FedCom has advance warning, which is the result of a ComStar "leak." In reality (as much as a sci-fi universe can claim that), the leak is coming from no less than Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht. As _Lost Destiny _tells us, Focht is not completely loyal to the nutbar Primus Myndo Waterly, and so once he has the information that the Clans are going after Vantaa—information, incidentally, passed to him by a "certain someone" in Clan Wolf (not Phelan, but he looks like Sean Connery)—he gives MIIO a little heads up. Focht never struck me as being entirely comfortable with Waterly selling the Inner Sphere down the river, or having a sudden change of heart when he learns the Clans are after Terra. So it stands to reason that, if he saw a way to throw sand in the gears, he'd take it. And it's literary license, so there._

_I also figured that the Clans' target being Terra would be no secret to Jaime Wolf, and there was no reason to keep that knowledge from the rest of the Inner Sphere. ComStar ironically is the last to get the word. And the "old dead guy" that Rhialla mentions is Dwight Eisenhower, from his speech to the men going ashore at Normandy on June 6, 1944._

_As always, thanks for sticking with me and for the reviews (especially Kat Wylder). I'll have the next story arc (called _Snowbird Chained, _uh oh) started up hopefully next week. BTW, we're halfway through what I've got planned for the Snowbirds.

* * *

_

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters_

_Harlech, Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_15 May 3051_

Duke Samuel Bonner stood behind a podium marked with the Federated Commonwealth's sunburst-and-fist, but he pointedly wore a large tie brooch with the old Steiner fist in it. He was in the middle of a speech, and warming up to a conclusion. "Solaris VII has always been a place where everyone can gather. Not in peace, necessarily…" He paused and flashed a winning grin as the audience laughed. "…but at least common ground. And though our Houses have been at war since the fall of the Star League, the people have always found that common ground. It has usually been in the economic sphere, in trade. And that is what the 194th Annual Solaris Trade Fair is all about: promoting the economic well-being, not just of House Steiner, but all the peoples of the Inner Sphere."

He paused again, this time as polite applause broke out in the cavernous Solaris City Convention Center. When it had died down, he continued. "This year, however, it is different. We do not meet with the knowledge that there is a raid or an attack somewhere along the frontiers, something depressingly common during our lifetimes. No, my friends, this time we meet at a time of war, of true, ugly, pointless war. I refer of course, to the Clans." This time, Bonner was interrupted by murmuring, and it did not sound pleasant. "I hear you," he said, nodding. "I hear you loud and clear. I call it pointless because we, the common people, do not even know why the Clans have come from the Periphery to attack us. They have savaged our brave men and women in the Tamar Pact, and for what? We don't know." His voice dropped an octave. "And what are our House leaders doing? Sitting on Outreach. Making plans. Doing nothing. Have we even asked the Clans what brings them here? Do they have legitimate reasons? Did Hanse Davion offer to marry his son off to one of them, or is he waiting for Theodore Kurita to make an offer?" More laughter. Bonner smiled. "My friends, this is not a place for a soapbox, but I must ask: why don't we talk to the Clans? Isn't that the mistake our fathers and grandfathers made during the Succession Wars? Didn't Katrina Steiner ask in 3022 'What are we fighting for?' I ask that question. If Hanse Davion isn't willing to ask that question, perhaps we should ask it for him." There was scattered applause and cheers, and then the image on the holovid was frozen, by the very man Bonner had been speaking of.

Hanse Davion sighed heavily and rubbed his chest, which was starting to ache again, and then his temples, which had been aching for awhile. Justin Allard looked on sympathetically. "I'd like to say that Bonner is just mouthing off, Highness, but the fact is, at least some of the sentiment he's expressing is shared by the common people. They want to know who the Clans are, and why they're attacking."

Melissa Steiner was the one who answered, and angrily. "I can understand that sentiment," she snapped, "but the fact is, Justin, he's doing more than just expressing the will of the people. He's actively undermining us. He was only on Furillo 48 hours after returning from Outreach before he was already talking about negotiating with the Clans!" She motioned at the holovid. "He couches it in pretty phrases here, but the result is the same: he wants to surrender before we've even properly started fighting!"

"The people are tired—" Justin began.

"I know that," Melissa interrupted him. "We can't just roll over and die for the Clans just because we're tired from fighting each other!"

Hanse put a hand on his wife's arm. Melissa was usually calm and collected; in fact, it was widely accepted that it was she who was a brake on Hanse's ambitions. Yet she could be every bit as fiery as her husband when she had to be. "No one's saying that, my love. We're going to fight, and we're going to win." He nodded at Bonner's image. "What people like him don't understand is, these things take time. Not every war can be like the Fourth Succession War."

"Or the War of '39," Justin added. "You are indeed correct, Archon. Bonner is undermining us. But he's only the tip of the iceberg. Behind him is Ryan Steiner. We've heard rumors—unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, just rumors—that Ryan has considered offering the Clans a separate peace between the Isle of Skye and them. It would complicate things, to say the least." Justin shrugged. "Of course, we have just as unsubstantiated rumors that Ryan's enemies in the Estates General are trying to paint him as an appeaser."

"And Selvin Kelswa?" Melissa asked.

"Kelswa is, for now, firmly in our camp, Archon. The only way he'd sign a separate peace with the Clans is if they offered to leave the worlds lost in the Tamar March. They're not likely to do that, so Kelswa will stand with us, especially as it looks like Tamar is squarely in Clan Wolf's path. He's not going to like the rumors of our nonaggression pact with House Kurita, but he's smart enough to wait until the war's over."

Hanse nodded. "For once, we can count on Kelswa's boneheaded stubborness." He looked at Bonner's image again. "It doesn't surprise me that Ryan is using Bonner as a catspaw. He'll run the peace proposal up the flagpole to see if anyone salutes it. If they don't, then Bonner will be discarded. That doesn't worry me." He reached out and switched off the holovid. "What worries me, Justin, is that we know he met with Romano Liao while he was here."

"He made no secret of it, Highness. Obstensibly, it was to secure a contract for Furillo to export mineral water to a few Liao planets. That part _is_ true, and Romano did agree to it. Bonner has always been an advocate of free trade. His meeting with Romano didn't last longer than ten minutes, that much we know. What we also know, that frankly bothers me, is that she dismissed her guards. That's highly unusual with someone as paranoid as Romano."

"So do we think he's trying to set up a deal with Romano?" Melissa asked.

"It would do him little good. Romano's insane, but she's not completely stupid. Liao troops would never live long enough to reach Furillo or Skye, and the ones that did wouldn't last long. If she offered him something, it wasn't troops, and Bonner's a self-made millionaire—he doesn't need money. I honestly don't know what she could offer." Justin shrugged. "It may be just as simple as a trade pact. I'm sure that they did discuss Free Skye at some point, but Romano's never shown more than a fleeting interest in it."

"Find out, Justin," Hanse said, then softened his tone. "Sorry. You have enough on your plate as it is."

"Not to worry, your Highness," Justin grinned. "We've got a whole office full of people tracking Romano's grandiose schemes."

"Romano can keep. What about the Clan front? How are we doing getting troops up there?"

"It's going well enough," Justin replied. "Naturally, we're stretched to the limit with JumpShip capacity, even with the St. Ives Compact helping. Still, we should have roughly thirty regiments on the line by the end of summer. If Wolf is right, and the main target of the Clan offensive is Terra, we can expect them to make a direct line for it. They'll expand the 'wedge,' as it were, but we can probably expect that wedge to truncate the closer they get to Terra. I think we can rule out a strike towards, say, Adelaide or Hood IV." Justin brought up a map of the Inner Sphere's coreward section and pointed to Twycross and Planting. "If the Clans follow at least typical strategic thinking, they'll want to eliminate our penetrations at these points first. The Smoke Jaguars are already going to have to work around having an enemy in their rear; I doubt the Jade Falcons or the Wolves will be similarly inclined. We can expect the first blows to land in this area."

Hanse nodded, thinking. What he wanted to do was launch a massive counteroffensive, retaking the worlds and showing fools like Bonner that he wasn't merely sitting on Outreach. Unfortunately, given the Clans' superiority in weapons and training, estimates were that he'd need at least fifty regiments to do it, and unless the Clans were kind enough to allow him until the beginning of 3052, he would not get them in time—and even then, it meant dangerously stripping the border garrisons with the other Successor States. Hanse felt he could trust Theodore Kurita, and possibly Thomas Marik. Romano Liao he could and would never trust. So, in the meantime, it meant doing a little bit of typical strategic thinking himself. The cardinal rule in containing offensives like the Clans' was to hold the shoulders, stiffen those, and trade space for time at the front of the penetration. Then, when he had the forces, Hanse could launch an offensive at the base of the penetration and cut the Clans off from presumably their homeworlds. If Kurita did the same, they could meet in the middle. There were two flies in that ointment, though: one was assuming that Kurita would ever be able to muster that strength, as they were already up against the figurative wall. The second was assuming that the AFFC could slow the penetration at all. Looking at the map, Hanse could see that the strategic thing to do was to evacuate Twycross, Planting, Seiduts, and Vantaa, which would shorten the line. Yet to do that would cause an uproar in House Steiner's Estates General, who demanded that the AFFC at least put up a token fight for worlds. It would also cause unrest among the AFFC itself, which had spilled a great deal of blood to retake Twycross and Planting; Hanse, being a soldier himself, knew the old adage that ground fought for took on almost holy significance for those who fought to take it. And in any case, even he had a tough time convincing himself of the need to evacuate two planets, Seiduts and Vantaa, that the invaders hadn't even attacked yet. Then he noticed that Justin was staring at him, holding message sheets in his hand. "I'm sorry, Justin; I wandered off a bit there. You have some evidence that the Clans are going to hit there, then?"

"Yes, Highness…and I have to admit, it's a little strange because of the origins of the message." Justin pointed to the map again, this time at Romulus, which was a Federated Commonwealth world held by the Jade Falcons, and Mozrije, which was a Rasalhagian world held by Clan Wolf. "According to this report, there has been a buildup in supplies and DropShips on these two worlds. It's all the telltale signs of an offensive. However, we're not receiving reports from any other Clan-held world, even those where we still have agents able to transmit, such as Trellwan and Persistence. I even took the liberty of having a chat with one of the ISF people in Theodore Kurita's entourage, and he admitted they had no signs of movement from the Ghost Bears or the Smoke Jaguars, at all."

Hanse rubbed his chin. "A limited offensive then, to clear the Twycross or Planting salients. Or both." A sudden thought struck him. "Or neither. Justin, as I recall, most of our strength in that sector is concentrated at Vantaa."

"Yes, Highness. Two battalions of the 10th Donegal Guards; Alpha and Bravo Battalions of the 12th Star Guards' 3rd Regiment; and the three battalions of the Sentinels, all under Marshal Sarah Steiner's command. All three units are refitting from losses taken in the first offensive, or the Planting operation. Calla Bighorn-Vlata theoretically has four battalions, since he recently concluded a deal with the mercenary 719th Striker Regiment to merge the two units under the Sentinel banner, but those battalions are very understrength. The 719th got manhandled on Steelton in the first wave."

"Still, understrength or not, that's the better part of three regiments there, not counting supporting units. We've only got one regiment each holding Twycross and Planting at this point." Hanse leaned forward. "Justin, if I was the Clan commander, I'd hit there. It's what our old friend Clausewitz called the _schwerpunkt,_ the decisive point."

"I concur, Highness."

"Why was the origin of the message strange, Justin?" Melissa asked.

"Because it didn't originate with any known agents we had on Romulus or Mozrije. In fact, we've never _had_ agents on Mozrije, because it was a rather minor world in Rasalhague space. I can accept that perhaps we're hearing from a newly formed resistance movement on Romulus, but why would a Rasalhagian unit on Mozrije transmit to the AFFC, using proper codes?" Justin shook his head. "No, all evidence points that the source was or is in ComStar."

"That _could_ make sense," Melissa said. "Just because we've evidence that ComStar is at least passively working with the Clans doesn't mean that all the Precentors are going along with whatever ridiculousness Myndo Waterly has come up with."

"Again, Archon, I concur. It wouldn't be the first time, either. We've been monitoring a lot of coded traffic between ComGuard units behind the Clan lines and the Precentor Martial's office on Terra. What we can read shows that there are a lot of ComGuards who want to know why they aren't teaming up with AFFC, Kungsarme, or DCMS units to resist the Clans. Unfortunately, we don't know what the Precentor Martial is replying—or even where he is. He was spotted on Terra a month ago, but that was the first time he was spotted in over a year, almost two."

"We'll worry about him later as well," Hanse said. "In the meantime, we'd better let Sarah know she's most likely next on the hit parade, as it were." He paused, remembering. "And we'd also better order Sheila Arla-Vlata and her people back to Vantaa. Calla will need all his battalion commanders. I'd like to leave them here on Outreach, but I see no choice." Hanse smiled without humor. "Justin, let Jaime Wolf know—and tell him I want to host a dinner tonight for the Snowbirds. We might as well send them off with a full belly."

* * *

Sheila gave her uniform another tug to straighten an almost invisible wrinkle, then settled the powder blue cape around her shoulders. She fastened it, then realized her hair was caught up in the cape. With a growl, she pulled her hair free, only to have it become unraveled from where it was caught at the nape of her neck. "Oh, dammit!" she exclaimed in frustration.

Max, who had gotten his own cape on, walked over and, fending off Sheila's hands, tightened the simple clasp that held the ponytail together. "How's that?"

"Fine," she said grumpily.

"Nervous?"

"A little. I mean, it's not every day you get a dinner party thrown in your honor by Hanse Davion." She blew out her breath. "Bad enough we get orders to rejoin the regiment before the training's finished, since that can only mean we're going back into the shit. It's worse to have to simply hobnob with a bunch of nobles before you go." She shook her head. "And I hate long goodbyes. It feels too much like a last supper for the condemned or something."

"Let's try to have fun."

"Yeah, right." She held up her hands. "Look at that. Shaking like a damn leaf. I don't shake this bad when people are shooting at me."

Max mischeviously kissed her neck. "I could calm you down, you know." He kissed his way up to her ear.

Sheila felt a wonderful tingle go from her head to her toes and settle somewhere below her stomach. "Don't," she whispered. "It took me the better part of an hour to get everything right."

"And it'll take the better part of five minutes to get it off."

Sheila was tempted, very much so, but turned around and kissed Max's nose. "You horny bastard."

"Won't deny it. I told you that women in uniform turn me on."

There was a knock at the door. "Hey, lovebirds," came Tooriu Kku's voice. "We're gonna be late."

Sheila and Max sighed at the same time. "Saved by the bell," Sheila said, then winked at her husband. "Looks like you'll have to take a rain check there."

"I'll hold you to it," he grinned back. "Shall we?" He formally bowed and took her hand.

* * *

Dinner proved to be much better than either had anticipated. For one thing, the Liao contingent had ignored the invitation, though Marik had sent his highest ranking officer present on Outreach, Maria Zuritas. With Sun-Tzu gone, the atmosphere was much more collegial, even informal. Sheila was surprised to see Hanse Davion and Theodore Kurita chatting amiably in the company of Jaime Wolf, but even more surprising was Victor Steiner-Davion and Hohiro Kurita. They were not exactly chummy, but neither were they attempting to one-up the other, and even seemed to be engaged in friendly conversation. Hohiro still bristled when Victor spoke to Omi Kurita briefly, but such an occurrence would have led to a fight only a few weeks earlier. Kai seemed to be out of his shell without his cousin around, and Cassandra was her usual affable self. As they sat down to dinner, Ragnar insisted on formally seating Marion Rhialla. In recent simulations, Ragnar had at last earned the right to be called "Mister Magnusson" with respect rather than derision; it was clear that his dislike for Marion had become genuine affection, and even a little bit of heroine worship.

The dinner itself was punctuated with a few notable occurrences. First of all, Sheila and Max had been sat to the right of the dinner's host, Hanse Davion; the symbology was not lost on them or anyone else. Dinner was heroic and excellent, as apparently Wolf's Dragoons' elite status extended to their cooks. The nobles had no trouble with what silverware was appropriate and what the dining-in etiquette was, but the mercenaries had to learn as they went. This resulted in Elfa Brownoak nearly flinging her beef Wellington into the lap of Justin Allard, and Tooriu Kku inadvertently letting loose a stentorian belch that silenced all conversation for a moment. Without missing a beat, Tooriu merely looked around and expressed his admiration of the chef. "On my world, that's how we thank them," he said, which brought knowing nods and a few chuckles. Sheila covered her mouth with her napkin, knowing that Tooriu hadn't been to his homeworld of Tukayyid since he was three and knew next to nothing about it.

Once dinner was finished, Hanse Davion stood and proposed the first of the traditional toasts, to the colors—in this case, his own realm's, then Wolf's Dragoons, and then to the other Houses represented—all but House Liao, to which Zuritas did not object. As per the ritual, Theodore Kurita then stood and proposed a toast to Hanse Davion, followed by a toast to Jaime Wolf. When he had sat down, Jaime stood and proposed the last of the formal toasts: that to the honored dead, represented by an empty chair at the far end of the table. Unlike the other toasts, this was drank with water. Sheila noticed that most of those present, including herself, only took a small sip of wine in response to the toasts, but Marion Rhialla knocked down her wine and had her glass refilled. She began to worry, as Elfa had mentioned that Marion had gotten there early and started drinking immediately. It was hard to tell when Marion got well and truly tight, but the last thing Sheila wanted or needed was a scene. Still, since neither Romano nor Sun-Tzu Liao were there, the possibility was remote.

When the formal toasts were finished, Victor Steiner-Davion stood. "When we began this training," he said, "I wasn't so naïve to think I knew everything, but neither did I think such a diverse group of people could be forged into a unified weapon. We still have a ways to go—" he glanced at Hohiro Kurita "—but we're getting there. I'm quite saddened to see Sheila and her Snowbirds leave, though I recognize the need. She took on a great deal of responsibility and even, you might say, risked her reputation and possibly her life to teach a bunch of upstart royals how to survive." Victor paused, then shook his head. "No, that's not right. She helped teach us how to win. And though I might have won the last few simulator battles just a bit…" There were scattered laughs at that; Victor had twice ambushed Sheila and wrecked her _Shruiken_ with AC/20 fire. "Despite all that, despite all the rough spots of a job I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, she stuck with it." Victor raised his wineglass, followed by all the others. "To Lieutenant Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata: our comrade and, most importantly, our friend."

"To the Lieutenant Commander," the others intoned. Sheila turned deep red and wondered if anyone would mind terribly if she passed out. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would be toasted by the most powerful people in the Inner Sphere, but here she was.

Max took her hand and whispered, too low for anyone but her to hear, "You've come a long way, babe."

Once they had drank, they began to sit again, but Kai Allard-Liao cleared his throat. "If the Chair does not mind…"

Hanse nodded. "The Chair recognizes Major Allard-Liao."

"Thank you, sir." Kai looked around. "A few weeks ago, I was the center of a brief circle of compliments—what Lance Commander Rhialla called a 'digusting round-robin." He paused as the table erupted once more in laughter. "I was told I was one of the best MechWarriors in the Inner Sphere." Kai shook his head. "Well, that's debatable, but we'll leave it for some other time. In any case, Victor told me, 'We're glad you're on our side.' Maybe so. But I tell you, having been on the receiving end of the Snowbirds, I am glad that _they_ are on our side. So…to the Snowbirds."

"To the Snowbirds!" everyone said.

"Hell yeah," Tooriu almost shouted, which brought more laughter.

Next it was Hohiro Kurita who asked to be recognized. "I echo Prince Victor's remarks towards Commander Arla-Vlata, and I thank my friend Major Allard-Liao for proposing a toast I had hoped to make." That shocked Sheila: not only was Kai suddenly Hohiro's friend, but he had noticeably and undoubtedly purposely left the Lieutenant off of her rank. "Certainly all the Snowbirds have given their utmost to our training, but I do not think they will mind if I recognize two certain individuals for going above and beyond the call of duty.

"When I came here," Hohiro continued, "I had seen combat on Turtle Bay and Wolcott, so I did not consider myself inexperienced. However…as my father would probably agree…" Hohiro smiled at Theodore "…I would say that I lacked humility. We as _buso-senshi_, what we Kuritans call MechWarriors, tend to identify with our 'Mechs and believe ourselves above the world. To a certain extent, that is true: we obey a higher calling. Yet we tend to forget that, unlike our 'Mechs, we are not twenty feet tall. Sometimes, it is good to be reminded of that fact, and it is infinitely better to be reminded of that by a friend rather than an enemy." Hohiro reached into a pocket, and took out an embroidered silk handkerchief. "In Roman times, I am told, a conquering hero would have someone placed in his chariot to remind that hero that he was still mortal." He handed the kerchief to Ragnar. "Please hand this to MechWarrior Maysa Bari, Prince Magnusson—who is that someone to our little group." Hohiro's smile widened as Maysa's look of terror grew. "MechWarrior Bari, this is what the Davions refer to as a 'preemptive strike.'" He raised his glass. "To _Buso-senshi_ Maysa Bari."

The toast was repeated, and sure enough, Maysa began dabbing at her eyes. "If I may beg one more toast," Hohiro said. "I had forgotten something my parents and my line had attempted to instill in me since my birth: that the meaning of samurai is 'he who serves.' Too often, because of the circumstances of our lives, we who hold power and formal titles tend to forget that it is _we_ who serve our nation, not the other way around. My _buso-senshi_ may be willing to die for me, but it is I who must be willing to lead them and set an example. And though I would not put it in quite the same, ah, method as she would, Lance Commander Rhialla has stated on several occasions that we nobles bleed red and put on our pants one leg at a time as anyone else, high-born or low-born. May we never, never forget that." Once more, he raised his glass. "To Rhialla Marion-_sama. Keirei!"_ He bowed low to her, keeping the glass level, giving her the Japanese word for salute and adding the honorific for a higher lord. The royals and the Snowbirds quickly aped Hohiro's motion, repeated a moment later by the others, though not nearly as low.

Once the toast was drunk, everyone sat, but Elfa, with a devilish grin at Marion, yelled "Speech! Speech!" It was quickly taken up by the rest of the table. Marion actually turned red and shook her head, but finally she straightened up. "Okay, fine, fine," she said, weaving slightly. "I'm just drunk enough to accept, Elfa."

Marion looked around and her eyes settled on Sheila. "I know what Sheila's thinking right now: how she's being toasted by the ruler of the Federated Commonwealth, the Draconis Combine, the Free Rasalhague Republic, and the _second_ best mercenary unit in the Inner Sphere." That brought guffaws, led by Jaime Wolf; there was no doubt who Marion thought the best was. "Well, I'll add myself to that list. If someone had ever told me I'd be toasted by the Fox and the Dragon, I'd have told them that the only one who was toasted was them, and not in the formal military-approved fashion." More laughter, and Marion let it die before continuing. "I guess it's not bad for the daughter of a Bellatrix coal miner and someone who has a price on her head courtesy of the Capellan Confederation. And Mister Kurita…" they shared a smile at that "…I thank your for your words from the bottom of my heart, which I assure you I do have. In fact, I might even cry, if Maysa wasn't crying for the two of us. If you hadn't said that you learned humility from me, Mister Kurita, I'd say my training was wasted. If you, Mister Steiner-Davion, hadn't said you had learned how to win, I'd say the training was wasted as well. Since you did learn, we succeeded to this point…though I'm sure my good friend MacKenzie Wolf will finish out the training as well as I could.

"So, if Prince Davion will permit me to ramble on a little, let me leave you with one last piece of advice." She took a quick drink. "What I and the others have given you is the second most precious thing anyone can give you in this life, save for life itself in the form of a child. We have given you our experience—experience paid for in the blood of our comrades." She nodded towards the empty chair. "I heard Mister Allard-Liao say a week or two ago, in that ridiculous trial of Chancellor Liao's, that the blood of the men who died in the Great Gash was on his hands. To that I say, and the chair will forgive me, bullshit. The only way the blood of those men is on _anyone's_ hands—Mister Allard-Liao's, Sheila's, mine, Kanrei Kurita's, or Prince Davion's—is if we do not learn from their example and benefit from their sacrifice. Otherwise, they truly were murdered rather than simply killed.

"We pilot BattleMechs. They are the most lethal killing machines devised by mankind next to thermonuclear weapons. In _one_ 'Mech, we have the combined firepower of some small nations a thousand years ago; certainly more firepower than in the entire Terran world combined two thousand years ago. But it is _not_ the 'Mech that means anything, despite what the public thinks. It is the man, or the woman inside it."

Marion paused and bit her lip a little. "Now I'd better wrap this up, before I start blubbering and need Maysa's hankie. And remember that I'm drunk. You'll never see me this fucking eloquent sober, I assure you. As I said, it is the man or the woman that counts in the machine. During all that training, I called you royals all kinds of nasty names, made fun of your parentage, and generally tried to make you feel as low as a snake's ass. Well, not any longer." She picked up her glass, prompting the others to stand. "Today, I call you Prince Victor Steiner-Davion, Prince Hohiro Kurita, Prince Kai Allard-Liao, Prince Ragnar Magnusson, _Chu-sa_ Shin Yodama, Kommandant Galen Cox, Lady Cassandra Allard-Liao, Major Max Canis-Vlata, Lieutenant Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata." She raised the glass. "To quote some old dead guy, the eyes of the world are upon you, the hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you. To all of you, my brothers and sisters in all but blood: charge your glasses high." She paused just for a second as she raised the glass to her lips. "And to hell with the Clans!"

"Amen!" Tooriu sang out.

"Amen," everyone repeated.


End file.
